


Doubt truth to be a liar

by morporkian_hobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, but they're trying, i don't know how to tag, mormor, not a very healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-10-31 13:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morporkian_hobbit/pseuds/morporkian_hobbit
Summary: When Sebastian Moran, veteran of Afghanistan and paid assassin, meets his new flatmate, James Brook, neither of them expects the surreal turn their lives are about to take.





	1. Bumpkin

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Doute de la vérité même](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826395) by [morporkian_hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morporkian_hobbit/pseuds/morporkian_hobbit). 



> Hello everyone! This is a translation of the fanfic I have been working on (hum-hum procrastinating on) for two and a half years: my version of the story of Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty. I am very happy to finally publish this fanfic. It’s a series of OS following each other: each chapter is an stand-alone story, an episode in Jim and Sebastian’s life, but the whole thing follows the evolution of their relationship. There will be feels, fluff, humour (I’m trying), character development, plot twists, and feels. A lot of feels. 
> 
> I’d like to thank my two (French) beta-readers, Anso and Louise, for their feedback on my story, their corrections, and the verbal slaps that I quite frankly deserved. Special thanks to Anso for her amazing drawings (I am still crying). And thank you to my friend Arsène, who helped me figure out some complicated plot points, gave me some really good ideas, and supported me all throughout this project.  
> Thank you also to my English-speaking beta Finrod for proof-reading everything. I’m using DeepL to translate the text and I’m correcting most of the mistakes by hand, and she makes sure I don’t forget things or use typical French phrases.
> 
> Warnings: this fic is about two criminals, who both have a pretty dark backstory. The warnings are mostly the same as those in the Sherlock series, but I’ll still mention them in each chapter, and try not to give too many spoilers. If you have a specific trigger that I haven’t written, don’t hesitate to send me a DM and I’ll tell you wheter it’s in the fic. 
> 
> Recurring warnings (in most or every chapter): physical violence, death threats, white arms and firearms, murders and diverse other crimes.

The streets of London never seem to change. Every day the same routine, the cars that honk, the passers-by that hurry, head down, all under a lead sky constantly pouring out a thin drizzle. Boring. But Sebastian had nothing more interesting to do than stare out the window of his flat at the street below, deploring the misfortune that life seems to make rain on him, as if he were himself but a vulgar London street.

First, the war. Sebastian had enrolled in the army to serve his nation, but also for the thrill of adventure and danger that it brought to his life. He had soon realised that taking someone’s life didn’t bother him the slightest, if it could ensure that himself, and the people he cared for, stayed alive. Everything had ceased a bit over a year ago, when he was wounded at the arm. That wouldn’t have been such a problem had he been a simple foot soldier, but he was a sniper, and without total control over his limbs he could make fatal mistakes. Thus he was repatriated to London as his wound healed; but he had no delusions about his chances of going back to the fighting line: the army would favour younger recruits.

He had had to live on war pension and a few lousy jobs before he was offered a real employment, up to his personal skills. He took advantage of the comfortable salary that came with it to piece his life back together, finding himself a nice flat, a few habits he could go back to when he wasn’t working, in short something that really belonged to him. Sebastian liked his solitude and his dependence to no one – except of course his employer, who gave him his salary each month, plus a bonus for each successful operation. He liked his work, which changed all the time and didn’t risk to fall into a boring routine, and the thrill of danger it brought him and that he had missed since his return from Afghanistan.

Until once again, misfortune befell him. His employer and his lodger seemed to have coordinated to lower his wage and increase the rent all at once. Sebastian had never rolled in gold, and today less than ever. Since moving out was out of question, he had but one solution: find a flatmate.

And there he was, leaning on the window frame of his apartment, staring at the street as he waited for the complete stranger who, according to flat sharing websites, would soon become his best friend. Sebastian highly doubted that. He couldn’t say he had never had friends; whether it was childhood friends or army comrades, he had tied strong links to others; but having lived in an environment where anyone could die at any moment, he had learned to not grow too attached to others. And he couldn’t see how a London bumpkin with no money could win his sympathy, him… another London bumpkin with no money, as well. Sebastian sighed. Sometimes, he really made himself tired. His current condition wasn’t exactly brilliant, but he knew he was still above the British common folk. It wasn’t vanity, it was only, from his perspective at least, fact. He was a veteran of the Afghanistan war, he had a job that most people only imagined through the illusions that Hollywood poured onto them, he wasn’t a nobody. And yet, to the eyes of everyone, he had to maintain that image of mister-nobody, if he didn’t want to lose his job, or worse, his life.

…Did we forget to mention? Sebastian Moran was a sniper employed by the most dangerous criminal in London, a man that he had himself never met, but whose shadow hovered over his network like that of a gigantic spider ready to annihilate the littlest fly stepping foot in his web.

Among all the passers-by hurrying along the sidewalk, a young man stopped on the doorstep of the house. He was dragging a luggage, and carrying a big cardboard box under his free arm. Before Sebastian’s eyes, he set the box down on the wet pavement and took out of his pocket a piece of paper that he quickly consulted, before checking the number on the door. By this point, Sebastian should already be making his way towards the door to welcome his “future new best friend” (my ass), but instead he just let out an exhausted sigh. The young man rang the doorbell; the shrill sound it made resounded throughout the apartment. Sebastian didn’t move an inch, letting the lodger open the door.

“Not my problem…” he eventually muttered while lighting a cigarette.  
If he had to live in the company of someone else, this was probably the last one he could smoke in his house. Sebastian didn’t give a damn about his lungs’ health: with his job, he was almost certain the he’d get himself killed before cancer could show up.

He could vaguely make out the sound of the newcomer talking with the lodger down on the first floor, and he made his way slowly to the door, before leaning down against the wall. He had barely tidied up the apartment: compared to the day before, it was clean, from an outside viewpoint, it was an awful mess.

Three knocks came from the apartment door. Sebastian stood up and ran a hand through his short hair – more a habit than a real necessity – and opened the door.

The man standing on the bearing looked slightly out of breath: despite the help offered by the lodger, he seemed to have insisted to bring up the luggage and the cardboard box upstairs by himself. His black hair was slicked back but a bit untidy, and he had tired little eyes that gave the strange impression that he was looking right through you. He was small, compared to the veteran, and his slightly too-large clothes added to this impression of fragility.  
“ _Bumpkin_ ” Sebastian thought to himself.

The bumpkin held out his hand.

“Hi, I’m James, your new flatmate,” he said in a confident voice. “You must be Sebastian?  
-My flatmate’s name is Richard Brook,” said Sebastian while staring suspiciously at the outstretched hand.

“Richard James Brook, but people call me James,” the young man explained.

Who on Earth went by their middle name? Sebastian resigned to shaking James’ hand. It was cold, almost like a corpse. Now that he thought of it, that’s also the feeling his eyes gave – dead, expressionless eyes, while the rest of his face was smiling.

“Come on in,” said Sebastian as he made way for James.

The latter entered the apartment, dragging his luggage behind him, and left the box on the bearing for now. In an instant he looked around the living room, his gaze seemingly noticing every last detail. He abandoned his luggage to tour around the flat, which didn’t take him much time, under Sebastian’s vigilant watch. He walked around as if he already knew the place like the back of his hand, with an air of owner.

“There are two rooms,” he remarked. “You normally live alone, right?

-I’m not the architect. Do you mind that there’s two?”

James turned towards him.

“No, it’s just that I expected to sleep on the sofa.”

He went back out on the bearing to get his cardboard box, which he then dragged alongside his luggage to the empty bedroom. The whole flat reflected Sebastian’s tastes and habits: posters and bills pinned to the walls, a vest spread across the arm-rest of the sofa, a coffee mug on the pool table, random trinkets abandoned on shelves, a newspaper left on the ground… only the second bedroom had be thoroughly emptied and cleaned for the arrival of the new resident. Sebastian went back to the window to finish his cigarette (the newcomer hadn’t made any remarks about the smoking, but he had clearly noticed his look of disapproval when he saw the stub), while James unpacked his things. The sky outside was still as grey, and the unceasing merry-go-round of the people in the street was still as boring, but he’d rather let his mind wander than have to take part in _social interactions_.

“We haven’t had the occasion to properly introduce ourselves on the website,” said James from the next room. “Where do you work?”

Sebastian groaned. So much for solitude. Thankfully his employer had provided him with enough documents and information to sound credible when he claimed to have a ‘normal’ job.

“I work in security,” he answered. “You see the big buff guys standing in the entrance of stores? That’s me. Well, it depends… sometimes I get hired as a bodyguard.”

A whistle came from next door.

“Wow! Bodyguard? That can’t be easy every day!

-And you?

-Me? I work at Saint Bart Hospital, in the IT department.

-Why’d you need a flatmate? Usually, IT pays well…?”

James let out a bitter laugh.

“You think! I’m just an assistant, I barely earn more than the minimum wage. At least I have my theatre group to make ends meet.”

Sebastian eventually left the window and started putting a little more order in the living room. At first glance, James seemed to be a completely lambda guy – a small day job, a hobby, some financial difficulties… the young man’s life was similar to the mask that the sniper was wearing, but they were really opposed. A computer scientist with a passion for acting, and a paid assassin working for the most dangerous man in the city? It would be difficult to build a sincere friendship while maintaining the illusion of a normal life. The “bumpkin” looked like a nice guy, with whom he could get along – without necessarily becoming the best of friends. It was hard to find common points with a man of the common folk when your own life was strewn with corpses, but Sebastian caught himself thinking that he could at least make the effort to try.

 

oOoOoOo

 

The streets of London never seem to change. Every day the same routine, the cars that honk, the passers-by that hurry, head down, all under a lead sky constantly pouring out a thin drizzle. Boring. But James Moriarty was above all that; both literally (he was on the highest floor of a building and was watching the street from dozens of meters high) and metaphorically. But in order to conduct his plans, he would need to blend into the masses of the mortals.

He abandoned the window to walk towards the computer set on his desk. Blending into the masses rendered him mortal and vulnerable as well, which did not please him at all. He would therefore have to find a trustable person to associate himself with… without putting himself in danger by revealing his true identity. Anyone would have been depressed by the problem; James, on the other hand, was enthusiastic at the idea of hiding behind a mask and driving other people nuts. He liked having all the cards in hand while others thought they controlled the situation. How presumptuous they all were. The complete plan to create a false identity was long. Most people thought they’d only need to falsify a few papers; but Moriarty never did things halfway: if he had to create a persona, he would give him a situation, hobbies, friends – he shivered at the thought – anecdotes to tell…

He had gotten a job, which he would have yield to for a while before he could make his persona evolve unsuspiciously; but more than a job, he needed to invent a social situation for himself. Living alone was a bad idea, he would be vulnerable, whereas a flatmate could easily serve as an excuse in many situations. He had therefore chosen a member of his staff: Sebastian Moran, a sniper and ex-soldier in Afghanistan, seemed to be a good choice. The man lived alone, but it had been easy to force him: he had lowered his salary, and forced (in a not-so-legal way) his lodger to increase the rent. The results came quickly: less than a week later, Moran had put out an ad on a flat sharing platform. James now only had to put in place the last puzzle pieces of his mask. Sitting down in front of his computer, he started writing a short response to the ad that he had been waiting for for a week.

_Richard James Brook, 29 years old, computer scientist – looking for flat mate near St Bartholomew Hospital_

He added a few information about himself (or rather, about Brook) before sending the message to Moran. He now only had to await his answer – he had taken the precaution of hacking the website so that Sebastian wouldn’t receive any other offer – and the illusion of Richard Brook, 29 years old, computer scientist, would be complete and ready to use.

 

 


	2. Complicated phone call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the translation of the second chapter, a day late, sorry about that. From now on I'll try to post at the same time as the French version, I just had a bit of complication with my beta-readers. Once again, thank you to Anso and Louise for their insight on the story, to Finrod for her corrections of the English version, and to Arsène for their help and support. No specific warnings apply to this chapter.  
> Enjoy!

 

At least six months had passed since James had moved in with Sebastian. If the young computer scientist seemed at first sight timid and reserved, he quickly turned out to be exuberant and eccentric once at ease with new people. He was a nice companion to be with, and Sebastian, to his surprise, had quickly become attached to the one he considered to be what he had closest to a friend. Of course, the sniper knew that in his situation, he had better becoming attached to anyone, but it was difficult to remain cold and distant towards somebody with whom he shared the same roof.

 

James often told him anecdotes about his job at the hospital, about stupid patients and unbearable colleagues – or the opposite. In return, Sebastian gave him glimpses of the good moments of his own job, while camouflaging it as a job more respectable than assassin.

Most of the time, James cooked, and he cooked rather well for a single man. They both often came back to the flat at different times, and it wasn’t rare for Sebastian to find a tupperware in the fridge with a sticky note telling him that Jim had left early to join his theatre troupe. On the days when they were home together, they sometimes watched films in the evening while eating Chinese takeaway or pizza. Sebastian loved thrillers, but James often spoilt him the film by making comments on the stupidity of the detectives and by giving advice to the murderers. It wasn’t about obvious errors of beginners, but always very specific advice. When the sniper eventually asked his flatmate how he could bloody know how to kill a tightrope walker with a flatiron to make the murder resemble a strangulation, Jim answered simply that he was passionate about detective stories since he was a child.

“Working in a hospital with a morgue also helps”, he added.

The IT worker, for his part, preferred horror films. He also had a very odd phase during which he was obsessed with martial arts films; Sebastian never understood the reason of his sudden fascination for the Asiatic cinema.

 

One evening, James was coming home late from un unsuccessful meeting with a potential client (by potential client, understand that they could have been a client, hadn’t they suggested such a ridiculous price for the criminal’s advice and hadn’t disrespected him - in other words, if they weren’t dead) to find Sebastian in a rather bad mood, sitting down on the floor as was his habit, leaning against the sofa, his PC on knees and his telephone at the hand. It was unusual for him to be so sullen; and although Jim usually took little interest in others’ moods and worries, he forced himself to ask his flatmate.

“What are you up to? You having trouble?” he asked in a bland voice.

Sebastian remained silent for a moment, before turning his head towards Jim.

“Yeah, work. If you really want to know, I am calling my boss… And frankly, I might be in even more trouble after that.”

It took James a few seconds to realise that it concerned him, then half of his brain cells when into panic mode. Sebastian didn’t know _who_ his boss was. And Moriarty had his cell phone on him right now.

What kind of problem could possibly justify that Sebastian called his employer directly? And how had he gotten his personal telephone number? He had no time to think about the question in more detail, as his train of thought was interrupted by the music suddenly blaring in the silent living room, half muffled by the fabric of the coat pocket of its owner.

 

_« Stayin' alive! Stayin' alive! Ah-ah-ah-ah, stayin' alive! Stayin' alive! Ah-ah-ah-ah, stayin' aliii-iii-iii-ive!»_

 

Well, shit.

 

“I’ll be back in two minutes”, Jim announced while pointing to the room next door. He fished his telephone out of the pocket and hurried to his room, while frantically pressing on the sound button. Sebastian addressed him a vague shake of head, eyes fixed on the unplugged TV in front of the sofa.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Sebastian was perfectly aware that he was getting in an incredible amount of trouble by trying to contact his employer directly, whom many his clients and collaborators had never even seen. He was not even sure that the number he had obtained was really that of the Boss, or rather that of a subordinate. And he didn’t give a damn.

The sniper had just pressed on the fateful button when his flatmate’s cell phone started to ring.

 _Not now, Jim!_ he swore internally. The long beeps of waiting of its own cell continued to ring in his ear.

In the next room, James seemed to be speaking to himself. Sebastian could not help listening in on the half dialogue is flatmate was having, while he waited for the Napoleon of Crime to deign to pick up his phone.

“The third old man’s cane? It’s possible, yes... Of course, no problem. I’ll look for it. This evening? Are you kidding me? It’s ten pm!”

 

And the phone kept ringing, ringing, ringing into the void.

 

oOoOoOo

 

“Alright, I ‘ll drop by tomorrow morning. Yes. See you tomorrow.”

Jim stared  at the screen of his smartphone: _Moran_ , with an identity photo like those you could find in an organization chart.

He didn’t put the phone to his ear, no point: he hadn’t picked up. The phone kept vibrating in his hand, silent, while he spoke to the wall in front of him.

 

Hanging up would have been a bad idea: not only his cell phone started to ring at the same time Moran was calling James Moriarty, but what’s more Jim picked up his own cell right when Sebastian’s correspondent hung up? Not need to be a genius to add up two and two; the sniper would immediately start having supsicions.

Picking up to reprimand Sebastian for having tried to contact him, and threatening him, would be even worse. No way the sniper wouldn’t hear James Brook on the other side of the wall, and then, he could say bye-bye to his cover.

“It was my theatre manager. Apparently I took home one of the accessory when I left the place earlier”, he announced while coming back into the living-room. Sebastian was still sitting on the floor, his lifeless phone set down next to him.

“Did you get your boss?”

Pure rhetoric. James already knew the answer.

“Nah”, the veteran muttered. “He didn’t even pick up. I’m not really surprised, apparently he hates being disturbed.”

_Completely correct._

“I’m trying to assess if I’m more trouble than if he had picked up. I think I am.”

_It depends what the problem was..._

The person who was really in trouble, James thought, was Moran’s immediate boss, who hadn’t passed a problem grave enough to justify the sniper trying to call Moriarty directly. Jim knew his flatmate, and Sebastian might be hot headed and quick to react, he knew his employer’s reputation very well, and would never take such a risk on a whim.

Jim suddenly stopped in his train of his thoughts. If any other employee than had tried to contact him directly, how would he have reacted?

Three options: threaten them in a very explicit way, fire them, or terminate them if they were really a pain in the arse. All without giving any consideration for the reason of the call: the henchmen at the bottom of the pyramid were not even supposed to have means to contact the Big Boss. But he had considered none of these options concerning Sebastian, and immediately put the blame on somebody else.

The explanation of this unusual behaviour was immediately obvious to him: he didn’t want to break his new toy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the third chapter! This is one of the first scenes I imagined when I started working on this fanfic. From now on, things are beginning to move...
> 
> Thank you to my awesome betas, Finrod and Alexandra, for the corrections !
> 
> Warnings: physical violence, firearms, white arms

The telephone incident, as Sebastian called it now, was the element that had rushed everything forward. The first thing that had caught the sniper’s attention had been the absence of retaliation after his initiative. He had been called into one of his superiors’ office, one so high in the hierarchy that he could only see his nostrils (figuratively speaking of course, since Sebastian was about one head taller than the man) and had been given an earful, but the threats sounded hollow.

Then he had begun to question Richard James Brook.

James often came back late to the flat; they were both used to it, and it was not surprising, considering that he worked in a hospital. But he was also sometimes away for several days in a row, without giving any other news than a vague justification by text and the co-ordinates of the closest packet of noodles in the flat. It seldom happened, but nevertheless enough for Sebastian to notice. He had never given it a second thought before the phone incident, but some coincidences were starting to rise his suspicion.

The fact that James’ phone rang right when Sebastian was trying to call his boss constituted in no way a sufficient proof; but once an idea is planted in someone’s mind, it is difficult to get rid of it. James’ absences and nocturnal outings often corresponded to the most important missions of the sniper; people of Moriarty’s network spoke amongst themselves, and although it was often only rumours, it wasn’t difficult to know when something important was happening… and it was in these moments that Jim acted most strangely. Besides the fact that the computer scientist’s bedroom was a strictly off-limit zone (even – and especially - in the absence of its occupier), Jim locked himself there more and more often to pass phone calls in low voice, without suspecting that Sebastian, on the other side of the wall, was eavesdropping (if you want to twist your brain, know that in fact it was Sebastian who did not suspect that Jim knew that the sniper suspected something, but he preferred to let him think that he knew nothing about it. Yes, it’s complicated.)

However when they spent time together, James appeared exactly like what he was: a small exuberant computer scientist, always tired, and enthralled by theatre and the Bee Gees. Anecdotes concerning the hospital abounded, and Sebastian had even in one occasion met one of Jim’s colleague, Mike Stanford, an obese academic who taught the pupils of St Barth. It was only when James isolated himself or disappeared for a while that Sebastian’s mind filled with theories of conspiracy.

He was almost certain that Richard James Brook was an agent of the criminal network of the mysterious Moriarty.

And he was absolutely certain that he had fallen in love with him.

Sebastian was an impulsive man, he never analysed his feelings, and he rarely doubted. When he loved a person, man or woman, he was always sure. But with James, it was different. It wasn’t love at first sight, nor an obvious partner; they had quickly built a strong friendship, from which it was usually difficult to get out, and Jim was not strictly speaking Sebastian's type of guy. Yet there was something unusual about him, behind his looks of a small, fragile man; a flame that sometimes shone in his eyes, confident gestures that didn't fit the character, an impression of power that emanated from him and was only unconsciously perceived. Sebastian didn't understand why he loved that weird boy, but he didn't try to understand. Knowing that these feelings were there was enough for him. The problem was obviously whether they were reciprocal (Jim's orientation was not a mystery; even a blind person would realize that he was gay to the very end). But it was difficult to find the right opportunity to declare your love to someone when you were at the same time discreetly investigating their dual identity.

Sebastian had taken advantage of an evening when Jim was supposed to come home late from the hospital to complete his research. He had entered into his roommate's room, despite his very strict warnings. The door was locked; but Sebastian had planned it. A small bedroom lock would not resist the sniper's picklock gear for more than three seconds.

The room was quite bare: a bed, a large closet with sliding doors covering an entire wall, a desk facing the window, and that was it. The closet door was decorated with two posters of the Bee Gees and Queen, and one of the walls was covered with photos, notes and plans pinned like on a cork board.

Sebastian approached it: some photos represented a place: a building, a hangar, a tunnel. Others were people, photographed in the street, and looked like pictures from paparazzi - either surrounded by bush leaves or taken from above. Most people were unknown to Sebastian, but he was surprised to recognize the superior who had been giving him a hard time after the phone incident, as well as his namesake, deputy Lord Moran, and... Queen Elizabeth. The many post-its, on the other hand, were unreadable: they were written in what looked like Gaelic. James seemed to have planned that people would try to read his notes and had taken some precautions.

 

Sebastian decided to do a little digging. No way to get his hands on Jim's laptop: apparently, he had taken him to work with him. Nevertheless, he found, hidden in a bag under his bed, a bundle of papers resembling reports, as well as an IPad. It took him no time to figure out the code from the fingerprints on the screen, but the object did not provide him with more information than a contact list, a mailbox full of spam and the knowledge that his roommate was addicted to Flappy Bird.

He spread the pile of papers on the floor next to the bed. Almost all reports were signed with code names, and a lot of information was overwritten with black bars. They had to be copies of lower value, the originals with complete information had to be in the computer. But he recognized reports of assassination or theft missions, all sponsored by a single name showed up regularly in the reports.

Moriarty.

Sebastian stopped frantically turning the pages just when he had found his own name in one of the reports. Not out of surprise, but out of caution: he had just felt the barrel of a revolver pressing against the back of his skull. He froze and looked up at the desk; in the window he could see the reflection of James' face.

 

“Tut-tut-tut. Remember what we said about going into each other's room?” James said with an amused tone.

Silence fell. Sebastian had become so tense that he felt as if his muscles were going to snap like rubber bands. Then, as he felt the pressure of the gun loosening slightly, he turned around on one knee, hit his roommate's arm, who dropped his gun, and managed to pin him down in the middle of the sheets of paper that flew around them. Surprise and panic shone in James' eyes for a moment; Sebastian's face, on the other hand, showed only a cold determination dictated by the habit of survival. When threatened, return the threat. He was just applying the simple rules that had allowed him to get here alive.

Sebastian was taller, broader, more muscular than Jim. With his twig-like physique, the young man had no chance of escaping the veteran's grip. He didn't even try. He simply took advantage of his aggressor's strength to continue the movement and make them both roll on the floor, until Sebastian's head hit the foot of the desk. Jim was now sitting on his chest, his face only a few centimetres from his. Before the sniper had time to react, a blade was placed on his throat.

“How many weapons do you carry around?” Sebastian whispered in a strangled, but nevertheless admiring voice.

“Seven”, James replied casually. “Six now that I’ve lost my gun. Whatever you saw,” he went on, “it's probably the last thing you'll ever see in your life. Any last words?”

The silence fell for a moment that lasted for an eternity. Sebastian was pinned to the ground, held down by Jim's mass leaning on him, a knife on his throat. He knew there was little the young man could do if he decided to turn the situation around; Jim was no match for the veteran. Yet it was not the threat of the knife that kept Sebastian still in the face of death that awaited him: it was Jim's eyes, those large brown eyes at the bottom of which shone the undeniable flame of madness and murder. Sebastian had never seen them so closely, had never been able to observe this fire that had just been lit in his irises.

He thought about his time with James: almost a year of a life spent hiding his identity and pretending to be a normal man; and now he felt more alive than ever, even though he knew he was on the border of nothingness. James' mad eyes staring into his own had an incomprehensible attraction on him, and he had an irresistible desire to come and burn himself with the flame that consumed them. After all, it was only a matter of seconds before the steel from Jim's dagger bit his flesh and silenced him forever, so to hell with caution.

Pushing on his elbows, he rose a few centimetres towards Jim and kissed him, before the young man had time to react. The thread of the knife drew a red line on his throat; no matter how painful it was, James' lips against his were the only thing that mattered right now.

Jim didn't answer the kiss, but he didn't walk away either. When Sebastian let himself go and fell to the ground, Jim's face was only a smooth and flawless mask, hiding the storm that was raging in his head.

 

“What was that?” He growled in a hoarse voice.

Sebastian smiled, his sky blue eyes still immersed in James', where only that little flame showed any emotion.

“I'm going to die anyway, aren't I? So this is my last chance to tell you. I love you. I don't care if you work for Moriarty, or if you want to kill me. I love you, that's all.”

James didn’t reply, only staring at Sebastian. Still no surprise, or fear; it just seemed like he was trying to solve a particularly complex equation.

“Come on, go ahead. Do it”, encouraged Sebastian after several seconds of silence.

Jim finally looked away and threw the dagger to the other end of the room.

“No. You can still be useful to me”, he announced as he got up. “I still need that cover, believe it or not.”

Sebastian, still lying on the ground, watched with astonishment as his friend distractedly dusted his jacket.

“Are you kidding me? I was supposed to die!”

“What, would you rather I killed you?” James replied, slightly annoyed. “No, this apartment’s too big for me alone, I'd get bored.”

He stooped down to pick up the gun and dagger that were still lying on the ground, putting one back in his pocket, the other in his sleeve, before leaving the room.

“And put some order back into all this mess!” he finally shouted as he passed his head through the door again. “There's a reason you're not allowed in my room!”

After a few seconds to put his thoughts back in order, Sebastian got up and began to collect the papers spread on the floor.

His roommate worked like him for the most dangerous criminal in London. And given the kind of documents he had access to, he was probably very high up in the hierarchy.

He almost murdered him.

And he was now aware that Sebastian was in love with him.

To be honest, the sniper would almost have preferred it if James had decided to kill him.

oOoOoOo

When Sebastian finally came out of his flatmate's room, the latter was in the kitchen cutting vegetables and whistling Queen's _I want to break free_ , while the TV in the living room unleashed its constant stream of boring news. One could almost have thought that nothing had happened, if one ignored the thin slit on Sebastian's throat, and the bump formed by the gun in Jim's pocket.

 

“I lied,” the young man said out of the blue, without turning around. “I don't carry seven weapons with me, you just had the bad luck that we needed daggers in the theatre. I usually settle for a gun.”

Sebastian grunted. It was somewhat difficult to engage in conversation with someone who had just attempted to kill you; yet he couldn’t really see himself locking himself up in his room after what had just happened. He also didn't plan to harass James with questions, it would be suicidal. Apologizing was out of the question - the criminal shouldn’t hide his position from his flatmate, especially since both had the same employer and Jim probably knew about it long ago. And he didn't particularly want to go back on the fact that he had just kissed him: he had more or less planned to die after that.

Thankfully for him, Jim seemed to insist on continuing the discussion himself.

“I'm surprised it took you so long to realize that something was wrong with me.”

“I've been thinking about it for a while,” the sniper replied, “but your room is not that easy to access. And I still have a little bit of respect for you.”

“Anyway, what made you think I would keep confidential documents in my room?”

“You do keep confidential documents in your room, Jim.”

“Mmmh... it's more complicated than that, actually.”

Sebastian pulled one of the chairs from the dining room towards him and sat down, watching his roommate on the other side of the kitchen counter.

“Go ahead, I am listening,” he said. “I think you owe me some explanations.”

“Tut-tut-tut! I don't owe you anything, Sebby. Remind me again which one of us has a gun in his pocket?”

Sebastian put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pistol, which he threw loudly on the floor before sliding it towards Jim with his foot.

“You.”

Jim couldn't help but giggle.

“Good. What do you want to know? There is no guarantee that I will answer you, remember that!”

Sebastian remained silent for a few moments, thoughtful. Dozens of irrational questions swirled inside his head, most of them written in capital letters, and a few that just looked like what one could get by hitting one’s head on a keyboard.

“Why keep confidential documents in such an unsecured place?”

“Oh, come on. You can answer that one yourself”, Jim replied without even turning around.

A short silence settled in, soon broken by Sebastian's response.

“You wanted me to find them”

“Elaborate.”

“For a while now you've been paying less and less attention to your discretion. I've already heard you make supposedly confidential phone calls, seen you come home late from the hospital and disappear without explanation. Someone working in a criminal network should protect their identity more than that, especially someone in a high position like you have... or seem to have. Am I wrong?”

“Mmmh... not too far off.”

“In that case, why did you almost murder me when you found me in your room? And don't tell me ‘for the image’!”

“Because you actually came across documents that you shouldn't have seen.”

“Are you kidding me? Did you really keep confidential documents in a room protected by a worthless lock?”

“I expected you to stop at the pictures on the wall and spend an hour trying to translate Gaelic. But you preferred to search under my bed to see if I kept anything interesting. I wasn't going to kill you, you know, I just acted out of reflex. And also because it's fun to scare you.”

A grin stretched Sebastian's lips.

“I've been at the front, Jim; it takes more than a simple piece of pipe pointed at my skull to scare me.”

“The piece of pipe in question would have blown your ridiculous little brain out, moron.”

“None of this explains why you wanted me to discover that you're a criminal, after all this time keeping a low profile and pretending to be a simple computer scientist with a passion for theatre.”

James sighed.

“I’ve started to trust you now. This cover is not intended to deceive you, you are just part of it against your will. Until now, I didn't know you well enough to trust you and take the risk of revealing my identity to you. I changed my mind.”

“Reporting you to the police or the government would blow up my cover as well. I also work for Moriarty, you know that! We're on the same side, what's the point of me selling you out?”

“Oh, not selling me out,” Jim replied. “But no one’s ever safe from a blunder, from an unfortunate word dropped here or there. I can't afford to have any rumors about me. At least you have the quality to investigate alone, it'll save me from having to silence too many people.”

Sebastian's chest tightened briefly.

“Are you going to silence me?”

James let out an exasperated and ostentatious sigh, before emptying his pocket of his gun and throwing it next to the sniper's.

“If I wanted to kill you, Sebastian, you'd already be dead by now. But don't get the wrong idea: one word wrong, and I'll have to turn you into a carpet. And don't think I’ll be happy to. People get attached to their pets....”

Sebastian frowned.

“Is that all I am to you? A pet?”

Jim didn't answer, but Sebastian saw his shoulders shaking: he was laughing.

“Fucking criminal crap...” he muttered under his breath. “They always think they're above everyone else.”

His flatmate remained silent, but there was a rare smile on his lips.

 


	4. Trial day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry for the delay in posting, I had a very busy weekend and so did my betas. Anyways, here is the fourth chapter, where we discover the criminal underworld...  
> As always, thank you to Anso and Arsène for their feedback and support, and to Finrod for correcting all my English mistakes, as well as a special shoutout to my friend A. for her help.  
> Warnings: physical violence, (minor charcater) death and injuries, firearms, white arms

 

The next morning, James was surprised to find his flatmate already up, getting ready to go to work. It wasn't particularly strange, Sebastian being used to getting up at dawn, but the veteran had warned the young man that he was not working that day.

“D’you have a date, Seb?” James said in a mocking voice as he eyed the tuxedo the blond was wearing.

“I wish, yeah,” he replied. “But I doubt the person I'm going to see will see it that way.”

“And who is that?” James asked.

His flatmate remained silent and continued to go about his business, occasionally shooting a look at a fulminating Jim.

“I asked you a question, moron!” he called again after a while.

“I have nothing to do today,” Sebastian replied. “I think you know, I only work when I'm called in, if I have assignments to do. Instead of sitting around all day with my ass stuck on the sofa, I decided to serve as your bodyguard.”

Jim hesitated for a moment, before asking, looking offended:

“Why would I need a chaperone? You've never cared about my safety before.”

“Until now, I didn't know you were working in an international criminal network”, the sniper replied. “I don't know exactly what job you're doing, but chances are you’re risking your life there, so instead of staying in the apartment and worrying myself sick, I'll go with you. I hope you’re okay with that, because I'm not asking you for your opinion.”

“Didn't it cross your mind I may already have a bodyguard? I’m not suicidal, and I know perfectly well the dangers of my job.”

“It's non-negotiable, Jim. I'm coming.”

Before Sebastian realized it, Jim's lips were a few millimetres from his ear.

“You're just an underling, Sebastian Moran”, the criminal whispered. “I am far, far above you in our network’s hierarchy, and the nature of the work I do is utterly confidential. I am already doing you an extreme favor by making you aware of my real identity; don't push the limits, if you don't want to be transformed into a carpet.”

The sniper stood perfectly still, eyes fixed in front of him, a slight smile on his face. James had changed drastically since the day before, he now realized it. And following him to the heart of his criminal network, of which he himself was only one of the little blind hands, was a very bad initiative for his survival. And therefore a very attractive one.

“Sebastian Moran,” growled Jim in his ear, “may I ask why you have a boner?”

Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment. Oh, shit.

“James Brook”, the sniper replied, “how can I know how you can see this when you're standing behind me right now?”

Jim sighed in exasperation and walked away from the sniper.

“I don't need a horny teenager as a nanny, thank you very much. So you're going to stay here quietly, and I promise you I'll come home tonight in one piece.”

The rest of the breakfast took place in a vaguely embarrassed silence, disturbed only by the muffled sound of the TV in a corner of the room. The morning news reported one or two burglaries in jewellery stores in central London, a press conference by an unknown politician scheduled for the afternoon, and the rising price of cigarette packages.

They both finally got up, James going straight to his room and leaving Sebastian to take care of such trivial tasks as washing the dishes. When he came out about ten minutes later, dressed in a discreet suit, the sniper was out of sight.

“Bye-bye, Sebastian!” the criminal shouted. “Daddy will be home soon!”

Jim slammed the door of the apartment and took to the street. He walked a few minutes before getting to a black car with tinted windows parked a few blocks from the apartment. He opened the door and slipped inside, and the vehicle started immediately.

“Where are we going today, Boss?” said a deep voice from the driver's seat.

Moriarty froze, before slowly reaching towards the pocket in which his revolver was located.

“What do you mean, ‘where are we going today’? You're supposed to have received a message this morning with the necessary information, Hopkins!”

“Sorry Boss, but I forgot to ask the usual driver for the destination before sending him into Morpheus’ arms,” the voice replied in a cheerful tone. “Hopkins, right? Sorry about him, honestly.”

Jim nearly crashed into the window separating him from the driver.

“Sebastian, you idiot!” he shouted through the plastic wall. “What the hell are you doing here?”

As usual, Sebastian did not deign to answer the question.

“Your security leaves much to be desired”, he announced. “I knew where to find the car, it's in the same spot every Tuesday morning, the driver didn't have time to pull out his gun, and you didn't check who was driving when you got in. If I had bad intentions, you'd really be in trouble, ‘Boss’.”

“Well, you're lucky you don’t have bad intentions, Sebastian, otherwise I would have had your seat ejected to the sky of London by now. With the ground of London as the final destination.”

“Ouch,” the improvised driver muttered. “Forget what I said about your safety, then. Wait... he added after a few seconds of reflection. If you eject the driver's seat, then who drives the car?”

“It brakes automatically. But that doesn't tell me what you...

“Well,” the sniper cut him off. “You look like you're prepared for anything. And... are you sure that detailing all your security systems to someone who just knocked out your driver is very safe?”

James frowned and drove back into his seat. Sebastian, on the other hand, seemed very happy with himself.

“So where are we going?

“Baynes Street, Camden. Number 53”, Moriarty muttered before taking his phone out of his pocket. Sebastian nodded and stood silent, eyes riveted on the road, an amused smile still on his lips.

“Hello, Marshall?” James asked in the handset. Tell Lorth he has the day off. I have a new bodyguard on probation. Plan 38 activated. Ah, and Henry Hopkins is fired. Permanently. Send someone to take care of him. And don't call me personally today; I'm incognito. Understood?”

There was a short silence, after which Jim dropped a simple: “Good”, and hung up. He then addressed the driver.

“Since I have a feeling it's going to be hard to get you out of this car without shooting you in the head, I'm going to give you a chance. You're my bodyguard for the day.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather shoot me in the head?” mocked the sniper.

“I'm sure I will shoot you in the head if you keep it up, Moran. If you spend the whole day following me, you're gonna have to change your habits. No James or Jim, for you it's Sir. And you don't open your mouth unless I tell you to - you're here to impress with your muscles, not your tongue. Understood?”

“Yes, J... yes, sir.”

 James leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. For once, the sniper would do as he was told. Moran didn't say a word, concentrated on the road, trying to pass between the cars to get to their destination faster. The music of _Another One Bites The Dust_ resounded in the cabin when Jim turned on the radio. The driver frowned, but did not comment.

“What is the program of the day... Sir?” Sebastian asked after a while.

Jim didn't answer, just whistling in his heart with the radio.

“I didn't get the briefing text”, he insisted.

“You shouldn’t have knocked out my driver, then. If you want to prove yourself, you're gonna have to manage without Daddy, Sebby.”

“... Yes, sir.”

It took another ten minutes, punctuated by the _Best Of Queen_ played by the radio, before the vehicle reached its destination. Baynes Street was pretty quiet, and Sebastian parked smoothly in front of number 53, before getting out of the vehicle and opening the door for his flatmate/best friend/employer/honorary dad. The criminal took the sniper's hand and stepped out of the vehicle like a princess. Sebastian kept a perfectly straight face, but he was internally dying of laughter. Ignoring his employer for a moment, he opened the trunk and took out a large padded sports bag.

“My rifle,” he explained briefly. James nodded.

The sniper let his boss lead the way, not being too sure of the procedure to follow - it was likely that 53 Baynes Street was the network headquarters, or at least one of its main offices; one thing was certain: he had never set foot in there.

The place looked like an apartment building like any other, except that all the windows’ curtains were drawn. James didn't need to knock or dial any code, the door opened immediately upon his arrival. The doorman, a frail little man in a suit whose straightened hair badly concealed the beginning of baldness, respectfully greeted the criminal with a nod, before giving a suspicious look to the sniper.

“He is with me”, Moriarty announced without deigning to even look at the man.

He walked into the poorly lit hallway, Sebastian on his heels. The blond quickly inspected the surroundings to get an idea of where he was. The place looked more or less like a normal apartment, except for the obvious lack of decoration. A staircase led to the first floor, and a corridor had several doors, only one of which was open: a kitchen should normally have been there, but had been converted into an office. Sebastian didn’t have time to investigate more, as his guide was heading directly to the next floor.

The upper level was very different. Everything looked professional: no more patterned wallpaper on the walls, no more wooden cupboards, but a more modern interior that was clearly not intended for residential use. James walked to a closed door - obviously also locked, as he took a ring of keys out of his pocket and inserted one into the lock to open it. Sebastian watched him without moving.

Behind the door was a spacious office with white walls. The sniper only had time to notice a table with a dual-screen computer surrounded by various cables, and papers and photos pinned to one of the walls; then James turned to him, blocking his view.

“You will go downstairs to the ground floor, where you’ll be provided with weapons and instructions. I'll be in here for a while. You'll be notified when I need you.”

He rushed into the office and closed the door behind him, leaving Sebastian alone on the landing. The sniper took a moment to think. His boss had to have office work to do before the day started, but that wasn't the main part of his job. Probably reading emails and the day's program... or the equivalent of this kind of morning routine in the underworld.

He shrugged and turned back towards the stairs. The building seemed silent; there was no sign of life except for the sound of a phone conversation on the floor below, in the entrance. Sebastian went down the stairs to find a middle-aged woman in a suit. She was rather pretty, with her fine features and very short hair, but Sebastian restrained himself from underestimating her: he knew how to recognize a competent fighter when he saw one, and the woman had the hard face of the person who followed orders without discussion and did not hesitate to empty her load into the heads of men a little too enterprising.

“Sebastian Moran? I'll show you around.”

No emotion in his voice, only a steel-strong professionalism. Sebastian nodded and followed her down the hallway where she was leading him. Jim had probably texted the staff that there was a new employee to brief. The sniper simply followed the movement, not being used to personal training - in the army, he just did what everyone else did; and since his recruitment into the network he had only met one superior and two or three colleagues, and always received his instructions by phone or text.

They went down another staircase to an austere but brightly lit cellar. The woman typed a code on a small keyboard and unlocked the steel door in front of them, before inviting the sniper in.

On racks fixed to the walls were placed a great many firearms, ranging from the smallest and most discreet revolver to a Kalashnikov. A real espionage film armory. Sebastian gave an impressed whistle, assessing the massive collection of canned death with one look around.

Her guide closed the door behind her. It locked automatically with a sinister _clack_.

“You're a sniper. You have no experience as a bodyguard, am I wrong?” she asked the veteran.

It looked like Jim had actually forwarded his complete file to his assistants.

“Not strictly speaking. But I'm thirty-two years old and I've kept my body through two military campaigns, I think keeping someone else's must be within my reach.”

“You are not asked to think but to be certain,” the woman replied. “Have you ever been tasked with someone’s protection?”

“Yes. In the army I have been appointed several times as unofficial bodyguard to an officer. They all got away without a scratch.”

The other looked at him with a doubtful look. The military environment was obviously very different from its current situation.

“It is not only a question of knowing how to fight, but also how to identify a potential threat and neutralize it before the problems begin. And neutralizing it does not necessarily mean killing the person involved, but first convincing them that they would have more to gain by not getting in your way. You must impose on those around you, and deter attacks, but preferably with as little bloodshed as possible.”

Sebastian nodded.

“What about all these weapons, then?” he asked nevertheless.

“For deterring. And the hard way if the boss' interlocutors don't understand the soft way.”

Sebastian was provided with weapons more suitable for close protection than his sniper gear. The weapons were technological death jewels that were far above his personal budget, and that he had always looked at with envy as a kid looked at a wooden siege weapon in a Christmas shop window. Working for a criminal was good, he thought.

He then had to spend an hour reading a file on an independent firearms carrier with outposts in London. According to the document, the company had access to very extensive distribution networks and only needed a little financial assistance and advice to grow. Moriarty intended to become their sponsor, which would ensure a strategic location in the arms market, and a quality supplier. A contract had yet to be signed; that was apparently what Brook had planned to do today, and Moran was to accompany him. Nothing too hard, at first sight: this carrier obviously had economic arguments, but had no interest in alienating M's network, so James had little to fear.

Brook joined him after an hour in the weapon room. Sebastian looked up at him, silent.

“I hope you're ready. Let's get going.”

The sniper nodded and put the document back on the table, before getting up and following Jim as he came out of the room and put on his jacket. They went back to the ground floor and left the building to reach the limousine that had brought them here. Jim gave an address in Soho to his improvised driver, who immediately started, soon followed by another vehicle parked just behind them.

“Security team”, Jim explained before Sebastian had time to question him. “One gorilla is not enough.”

“I would rather you avoid calling me a gorilla, Ji… Boss,” Sebastian said.

Only an amused grin answered him.

The journey took place in silence - Jim the criminal seemed to be much less talkative than Jim the computer scientist, or he was deliberately trying to annoy Sebastian. The sniper didn't mind.

It took them about twenty minutes to reach the abandoned building designated by Jim. Sebastian parked in the shade of the building and went out to open the door for his boss. A man and a woman got out of the second car and joined them.

“Kratides, you stay outside,” Jim said to the man. “You watch the surroundings, and you come in if you hear gunshots. Maisy and Moran, security detail. You don't open your mouth until I ask you to. You keep your weapons hidden. I don't want bloodshed or violence, unless it's absolutely necessary. As long as there is no threat, you remain statues. Do you understand me?”

The two nodded in unison, accompanied by a solitary "yes Boss" from the blond. Jim gave him an exasperated look, before turning his back on him and entering the building, the two bodyguards on his heels.

The building was almost habitable, but the construction had been abandoned before the top floors were completed, so no one had ever lived there. The appointment had been arranged by the Firm in a ground floor apartment, often used for this kind of meeting. The sound of the three visitors' footsteps echoed back from the bare concrete walls, the only sound in the building with the wind running through the corridors. When Jim arrived at one of the doors, he signalled for Sebastian to enter first.

In this kind of situation, he knew he had to expect an ambush, and should enter with a weapon in his hand... except Jim had specifically demanded not to take out their weapons. Apparently he was just supposed to be used as a crash test in case the meeting was a trap. Sebastian doubted it, anyway. He opened the door and entered the apartment, embracing the area with a glance. Bare walls painted white, no furniture except a table and two sofas facing each other, perfectly incongruous in this place. Two men were sitting on one of them, facing the door, and a third one was standing behind them. A bump in the standing man's pocket indicated the presence of a gun. He noticed a window overlooking a backyard, with no exits, and a corridor probably leading to the other rooms. Sebastian gave only one look to the three men, before turning around towards the door he opened wide, waving to Brook and Maisy to enter.

The sniper watched Jim as he walked into the room. Once again, he was discovering a different man: straight as a pole, walking at a slow but steady pace, a smile on his face that badly hid the cold and dangerous air that radiated from all his being. A charismatic businessman with whom it was better not to play games. Maisy and he, on the other hand, looked exactly what they were: threatening and silent bruisers.

The smaller of the two men sitting on the couch stood up when Brook arrived and held out his hand. Jim squeezed it tightly, before sitting on the couch across the room. His two bodyguards stood behind him, observing the three men facing them.

“I am Robert Thompson,” Jim introduced himself in a blank voice, “I represent the Firm, you will be dealing with me today.”

“Serpey,” the other replied. “Business representative of Crowe & Fergus.”

“Let's get right to the point, Mr. Serpey. I have read your file carefully, you have an interesting position in the Eastern European firearms network... As well as in Northern Italy. With such a well-developed network, I’m surprised that you didn't think about setting something up in England earlier.”

A short silence set in before the man realized that it was a question.

“We mainly organise transport in Russia and Belarus, where our main customers are located. It is only recently that we have heard about your organisation and therefore the possible demand in Great Britain.”

“And so you need funds to settle in London...”

“Indeed.”

“It’s obvious that associating ourselves with you would bring us a new source of arms supply... but that is not something we lack. England has a long tradition in the art of killing its neighbours. What does your company offer us more than weapons we already have access to?”

Serpey did not hesitate.

“A network, and a return on investment. If I am not mistaken, you still have no contact in our sector in Eastern Europe. This association will provide you with opportunities...”

Sebastian did not concentrate any longer on the discussion, preferring to observe the bodyguard of the arms dealer. He was a mastodon, but he didn't seem particularly competent - he was more there to dissuade than to act. But even if he was slow to react, he could undoubtedly do quite a bit of damage in close combat. Not to be underestimated.

The other man on the couch seemed to be the businessman's assistant; he was the one holding the documents and taking notes of the different offers made by Jim - aka Robert. He was probably there just to make Serpey look official, but the man didn't need a scribe at all.

A movement at the window suddenly caught Sebastian's eye. He observed the courtyard through the window, but nothing seemed to have changed there: it was still as deserted as ever. His colleague gave him a puzzled look, but he shrugged, and she turned away. He glanced back at Serpey's gorilla: his gaze seemed to be drawn by a point behind the two bodyguards. Noticing that he was being observed, the man returned to Sebastian, but the sniper only held his gaze for a fraction of a second, before his intuition made him suddenly turn around towards the door, at the very moment when it was creaking.

It was a life-saving fraction of a second, as the stab intended for him missed him by only an inch. A man had just entered the apartment, with a knife in his hand, to try to get rid of the bodyguards. Sebastian, his target, reacted immediately, grabbed the intruder's armed arm and threw him to the ground.

What kind of idiot still uses knives? Sebastian thought as he kicked away the blade that the man had dropped while trying in vain to keep his balance.

Jim, upon hearing the fighting, turned around; Maisy, however, pointed her gun at Serpey, while the mastodon drew his own.

“Nobody move!” Brook shouted. “I'm sure we can handle this misunderstanding without too much…”

A gunshot cut him off, and Maisy dropped her weapon in pain, falling to the ground on her knees.

No one uses knives anymore, Sebastian realized, understanding with horror that he had made a mistake. The man on the ground was only a diversion; a second one had entered while he was taking the first intruder down, had disarmed Maisy and was now pointing his weapon at the sniper. At the same time, a silhouette appeared from the shadow of the corridor behind the couch and confidently stepped forward towards Jim, with a gun pointed at his head.

“Well, let's get down to business,” Serpey announced as he stood up. “You are at our mercy, Mr. Thompson. Your bodyguards are out of harm's way - yes, even the one outside. My men took care of him.”

Kratides was dead, or at least helpless, and Maisy couldn’t do much, Sebastian realized. So he was the only one who could get them out of this mess. Alone, against three armed men, one of whom currently had the barrel of his weapon three inches from his head. It was going to be a tough game.

“If Moriarty wants you back alive, he'll have to pay”, Serpey continued. “And more than the useless five hundred thousand you’re offering us. We already earn twice as much back in Russia.”

“Who tells you he'll want me back?” Brook scoffed.

Sebastian swore internally. Jim was about to get his brains blown out, didn't that idiot have any self-preservation instincts?

“Your three bodyguards tell me”, Serpey replied. “No one sends a mere minion with that much protection.”

His brain working at the speed of sound, Sebastian analysed the situation. The beefcake was armed, but for the moment he didn’t seem eager to attack anyone. The man with the knife was on the ground, as Sebastian had had time to neutralize him. The most problematic were the two men holding him and Jim at gunpoint. If he tried to free Jim, he'd immediately get a hole in his skull. If he first got rid of the man who threatened him, Jim would pay. He had to rely on the assumption that Serpey wanted to keep his hostage alive. But even if his boss was safe - for the time being - there were still two armed men who could kill Sebastian. But he had to take the risk.

He shot a furtive glance at his colleague, and found with surprise that she had managed to regain possession of her weapon while the intruders were focused on him. Even he had thought she was unconscious.

Maisy made a slight wave of her weapon at the man holding Sebastian's gun. Sebastian didn't even nod, just blinked to let her know that he had understood the message. Brook and Serpey were still talking, but the sniper's adrenalin-saturated brain no longer recorded their words. He was entirely focused on the layout of the room, its occupants, in search of the most appropriate moment...

Whether by chance or premeditation, Jim scooted on the couch. The man holding him at gunpoint found himself in Sebastian's sights.

“Now!” shouted the sniper as he squatted down and raised his weapon.

The sound of a gunshot filled the room, immediately followed by several others, as bullets flew in all directions. The man behind James collapsed to the ground with a thumping noise, his forehead pierced by a red hole. The one behind Sebastian had only been hit in the shoulder, and retaliated too hastily, missing the sniper by a few inches. The sniper elbowed him in the stomach - it only gave him a few seconds, but it was enough to empty his charger into the massive chest of Serpey's bodyguard. He then dropped his weapon, now useless, and threw himself to the ground to recover the one Maisy was holding out to him, avoiding at the same time the punch that his attacker threw to his face, and stood up to come face to face with the man’s  revolver barrel.

The sniper swore internally. He had nearly gotten rid of them, it couldn't end like that! His only option was to play on speed. He had a 50-50 chance of getting out of it alive. But one chance out of two was not enough to ensure that Jim....

“On the ground!” suddenly ordered Brook's voice behind him.

Sebastian threw himself to the side - he had learned long ago that when they heard the warning, his enemies would reflexively fire straight ahead. The man was no exception, but his bullet sank into the couch, just behind where the sniper's chest was a few seconds earlier. The latter rolled to the ground and stood up only to see his attacker collapse to the ground, and Jim throwing his gun down. Serpey was lying on the other couch, clutching his stomach - wounded.

“You’re supposed to be my bodyguard, Sebastian,” said Jim, “not the other way around.”

The sniper pointed his gun at the wounded man.

“No, don’t !” Jim exclaimed.

“I won’t leave here until they’re all dead,” Sebastian replied.

“It can wait. “

Jim turned to the wounded man.

“First mistake, Mr. Serpey,” he said in an icy voice, “you should have killed my bodyguards, not just threatened them.”

“Thank you very much...” Sebastian muttered.

The man did not answer.

“Second mistake: you shouldn't have left them their weapons.”

He sighed.

“You're a beginner, Mr Serpey. The only issue is that this profession does not give beginners a second chance. Either you're a professional immediately, or you're not at all. And only a beginner thinks he can threaten the Firm.”

Sebastian kept an eye on Serpey. If Jim could have a gun, so could the other one, and he couldn't take the risk of a turnaround.

“But since you're a beginner,” Brook continued, “I'm going to be charitable...

The wounded man, still silent, looked up, a faint glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.

“...you won't die too slowly.”

 

oOoOoOo

 

“Firm or not, if they hadn't been so pathetic, we would have been in a lot of trouble, boss. It’s not Moriarty's reputation that would have saved us.”

Jim and Sebastian had left the scene after taking care of Serpey, leaving the other two bodyguards to the ‘cleaning’ team who had joined them on site.

“It's a risk to take when you work in crime, Sebby,” Jim replied wearily. “You can't expect all negotiations to go like between salespeople leaving London Business School. It's easy for you, you point your gun, adjust your scope and bang! It's in the bag.”

He mimicked the action of aiming and shooting at someone, before letting his arms fall back at his side and shrugging.

“Real life is a lot messier than that,” he concluded.

“You do remember that I have been to the front, don't you?” Sebastian replied.

“Of course. I wouldn't have let you follow us today if you hadn't.”

“And you'd probably still be there, with a gun to your head.”

“... it's true. Good thing I have a quality bodyguard.”

Sebastian smiled. It was rare for Jim to admit that he was right, let alone compliment him.

“Thank you.”

“Don't get too smug. You've only done your job.”

“Wrong. I worked unpaid overtime, and I saved your ass. I think I can be smug about it.”

Sebastian bragged to his boss, but deep inside he was appalled that he hadn’t managed the threat better. If he had searched the apartment from the beginning, if he had watched the door instead of turning his back on her... They had lost a man, and Maisy was seriously injured. It was a miracle that Sebastian got away without injury, and he owed it to Jim. He had every right to wonder who was the other's bodyguard.

“It's not going to last.”

“What is?”

Jim smiles at him in the rearview mirror.

“I'll arrange for your bodyguard position to become official. You will need specific training of course, but... yes, it can be done.”

Sebastian smiled back.

“I won't make any more mistakes, boss.”

“I sure hope so.”

 


	5. The mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Today it's two chapters instead of one! They're very short, kind of transition chapters if you will. As always, thank you to my beta-readers, Finrod and Alexandra. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: physical violence (mentioned)

He’s changed. Since the incident, since I discovered that he also worked for M, he has transformed himself, so much so that he seems like a completely different man. It's as if he had put on a mask... or rather removed a mask, because I can't believe that the Richard James Brook I knew until now - introverted, reserved, tired - is the real him.

Now he is an eccentric, confident, charismatic man – in fact, he has always been like that, but never with me. I was seeing James the computer scientist, now I know James the criminal, who walks down the street as if the world belongs to him, who threatens as he breathes, who plays with guns as if they were just pens, who smiles with his lips but throws daggers with his eyes... and who flirts with absolutely everyone.

I had already guessed Jim was gay, but I had no idea just how much. He pushes men to their limits, makes them believe they are special, unique, then throws them away like old socks - or shoots them in the head.

He does that whenever he needs to impress. You'll never see him flirting with strangers on the street or in a bar (anyway, he's not the kind of guy who goes to bars); but he spends his time hitting on his clients, his bodyguards, the MI6 guys who come to negotiate information. There are those who don’t know what to do; those who pretend to ignore him, but refrain from jumping him; and there are those who flirt back.

That's me. Usually, these are the ones who end up with a bullet in their brain - or fewer fingers, or a scorpion under their pillow (I've been there before). He likes to feel in a position of strength, imposing his presence, ideas and orders; but he can't stand it when someone else tries to lead the dance and catch him. Or... it amuses him. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised: Jim loves to draw attention to himself, and I think he has a lot of fun creating both fear and desire in the minds of the people he manipulates. He plays cat and mouse, and I'll be burned alive if I know which one he is.

For a reason that I don't know, he still hasn't had me murdered. And yet, God knows I play with fire. The little bastard does everything to turn me on, and of course he knows that I am not indifferent to him. I test his limits, I try to go further and further, see how far I can push him before he decides to pull the trigger. Several times, I found myself pressed against a wall, a blade under my throat. I already owe him several scars, which I cherish like treasures: Jim's marks on my body, the proof that I matter to him, even if it's not the way I would like it.

I said he took off his mask; actually, I think he just changed it. I don't know how many masks, how many identities, how many different personalities he has, or how long it will take me to discover who he really is. But I know I won’t give up on it. He reads me like an open book; he knows everything about my past, my secrets, my feelings, my fears. I only know of him the lies he deigns to show me; but I will fight until he shows me the truth, until he is the real Jim. And who cares if that means I have to burn myself with the flame of his madness; or rather, so much the better: the game is only worth it if there is a risk, and what could be more exciting than risking my life to tame a criminal?

 


	6. A game of hypocrites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none this time, enjoy the calm.

I caught myself staring at a picture of Sebastian this morning. I don't even know how I got this photo of him in my phone - I must have taken it while he was playing dumb in the apartment kitchen. I was in a taxi to go to an appointment with a client, and I was reviewing pictures of the network’s agents when I found it. I didn't take my eyes off the screen for at least a whole minute before I realized what the hell I was doing.

I know I'm interested in him, I have no illusions about that; I'm not going to lie to myself, it would be counterproductive. And he doesn't hide his feelings for me anymore since I almost murdered him.

I wasn't going to do it, the events just happened too fast and I suddenly found myself with a knife on his throat. I was just trying to scare him. I love to see emotions fighting in his eyes - surprise, incomprehension, terror, desire. He is a complex man, much more complex than I thought at first glance, with his raw and rough outside. A sniper, a veteran of Afghanistan... who would think there's a heart under that tanned skin covered in scars?

I must have a soft spot for soldiers.

I'm surprised he fell in love with Richard Brook's personality: he's not his type of guy. I'm surprised he loved him even when he suspected the lie.

I’m surprised that he still claims to love me, after the transformation, after I abandoned the Brook mask. His feelings have not disappeared, they’ve only grown stronger.

And I'm surprised that I give a damn. It isn’t my style to care about someone's feelings; unless it has a psychological interest, a pressure point on that person. And that's how I saw Sebastian's feelings at first: an occasion to blackmail him, make him bend, put him under my control. Until I realized that I liked being the centre of his attention - his attention in particular, not everyone else's as I usually do. No, with him, it’s special. I care for him. Incredible, how one might get attached to their pets, right?

I know I'm interested in Sebastian. I also know that I don't love him - not as he says he loves me, anyway. But I'm attracted to him. I’m attracted like a magnet, and the more I realize that there are things hidden underneath his simple and efficient exterior, the more I want to discover his secrets, the person he really is. The more I know him, the less I understand him: just as I hide my true identity from him, he doesn't show me everything either. By game? Out of habit? Of fear? He knows I'm dangerous, and even though he plays with fire... no, with a nuclear bomb, he still has a fraction of a normal sense of self-preservation.

I don’t delude myself about the nature of my feelings, or his; I don't want to waste my time and energy asking myself vain questions about how all this happened. No, what I'm wondering is how far it's going to go.

I ‘m playing with him, I’m pushing back my limits day after day, without knowing what I will do when I am completely exposed (probably in both senses of the word). Because if I continue like this, it will certainly happen. And maybe that day, I'd be forced to kill Sebastian. Or maybe I will accept that at least one person knows who I really am, who the man under the mask is. Only one person, him.

I don't know how far to go in this relationship, what risks I'm willing to take. Feelings are part of the intellect, and it is an area I know well and can easily manipulate - in others. When it comes to my feelings and safety, I don't know which way to go. Strangely enough, part of me refuses to put an end to this game of hypocrites that we’re both playing; refuses to let him go; refuses to give up my blooming feelings. Abandoning him would be the wisest solution; but God knows I am anything but wise, and that is how I got where I am today.

I've had relationships before, but they were all boring; one-night stands, or boyfriends who thought they knew me when they only knew a mask. I manipulated them all as I pleased, and many ended up in the hospital, or even the cemetery, when they tried to find out more about me. But with Sebastian, it's the first time I've taken the game this far. In a way, I think I want him to discover me, I don't want to be just a mask for him; but I wouldn't give him my true personality on a silver platter. Anyway, for him, nothing is as valuable as something he fought for.

And now I'm starting to get all poetic, and comparing myself to a damn golden plastic cup. Do you see what you make me do, Sebastian?

I should hang that guy.

 


	7. The King sleeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter is here! Today we discover a new side of Jim, and a Sebastian who still lacks basic conservation instinct. Thank you to the great Alexandra for double checking everything and making sure my English isn't broken. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to leave a review!
> 
> Warnings: physical violence, firearms, brief mention of the war.

Sebastian Moran was a very light sleeper. Or rather a selective sleeper: he could sleep in front of the television or with someone singing off-key in the next room; but the slightest abnormal noise, the slightest whisper, the slightest crack of a parquet floor or the squeaking of a hinge immediately pulled him out of Morpheus' arms, and left him not quite awake, but nevertheless alert enough to cause harm to the intruder. It was a necessary quality for survival in a combat zone, and Sebastian had survived many. Those who did not possess it acquired it very quickly, or were robbed, or even killed, in their sleep.

It was the very faint but perfectly recognizable squeaking of the hinges on his bedroom door that woke Sebastian up one night, around two in the morning. Struggling to regain consciousness, he opened his eyes wide in the darkness, his pupils dilating to capture the slightest ray of light - but remained motionless. A silhouette cropped up in the dim glow filtering through the door ajar, then almost disappeared after closing it. Sebastian took advantage of the darkness to silently extend his hand towards the revolver on his bedside table - a precaution normally useless in London but which remained a reflex from his time in the army.

“Jim?” he whispered, uncertain.

“Shhhh...” a voice came in response.

As far as Sebastian could judge, it was his flatmate’s voice. He relaxed and set the weapon down. The visitor approached the bed, staggering slightly, and slipped under the duvet under of the veteran's stunned eyes. He was about to ask Jim what the hell he was doing there, to get out of bed or even kick the young man out...

“Is everything all right, Jim?” he asked instead.

“I had a nightmare...” mumbled the little shape wrapped in blankets next to him.

Sebastian stood up on an elbow. Jim had his head turned towards him, his eyes half-closed. He was still half-asleep, while Sebastian was now perfectly awake. Jim shifted around a little, so that he was rolled into a ball against the sniper. Sebastian's expression softened. He hesitated for a moment, before putting one hand on the young man's shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

The silence settled for a few seconds, before Jim's answer arrived.

“Nah. Let me sleep.”

All right. At least it wasn't the 'let me sleep, asshole' he should have received in any other occasion (James was a very polite and distinguished man most of the time, but didn't hesitate to copiously insult his flatmate when he was in a bad mood).

Sebastian let himself fall back on the mattress, and stopped moving, for fear of disturbing Jim. It was only a few minutes before slight snoring rose from the sleeper, bringing an amused smile to the sniper’s lips.

Jim's face was right in a puddle of light provided by a hole in the shutters. Sebastian took this opportunity to observe his face: so pale, his tousled hair forming a halo around his head, dark bags sinking his eyes even more than usual, he looked so fragile compared to daytime Jim. As if the night had taken away his disguise as king of the world, and he was now just a child lost in dreams too dark for him. Seeing him like this, Sebastian felt a surge of paternalism - this man, who was his employer, a dangerous criminal who threatened him with death almost daily, was now a small, delicate thing that he had to protect at all costs. This was the effect Jim often had when he wasn’t using his surprising charisma; and although he usually put back in their place all the people foolish enough to think he was fragile, he was now too busy snoring to worry about his sniper's thoughts. A light smile stretched Sebastian’s lips as he observed the innocent face on the pillow next to him. What he had in front of him was probably the closest thing he had ever seen to the "real" Jim - however tortuous the criminal's personality may be, Sebastian could not believe that his barriers would stay in place even in his sleep. He could reach out his hand, run his fingers though the young man's messy hair, caress them... the temptation was strong. The sniper held back. There was still the risk that Jim was only pretending to be sleeping, and getting caught in an incongruous attempt at affection by his boss was not a very good idea (even though said boss had just invited himself into his bed). Sighing softly, he slipped under the blanket and put his arms under his neck, trying to fall asleep and forget the presence of the man he loved a few inches away from him. An impossible feat, that the too strong and too fast pounding of his heart reminded him of at every instant.

Sleep didn’t come until the small hours of morning.

oOoOoOo

 

_'And I set FI-I-IRE, to the RA-AIN, watch it burn, as I, touch your fa-ace...'_

Sebastian began to emerge slowly. It was only when he heard the gunshot and woke up suddenly that he realized that the music had been playing for a while now. Rising up in a jump, he saw Jim, still half asleep, slumped on the bed, who had just fired a gun at the alarm clock without even looking at it.

“What kind of idiot sets his alarm clock on a Sunday?” muttered the criminal, dropping the gun on the nightstand next to the smoking remains of the radio.

“Why do you think breakfast is always ready when you get up, you lazy bastard?” Sebastian replied. “You didn't have to shoot my clock. And by the way, how did you know I have a gun?”

Jim turned to lay on his back and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

“Former soldier. Sniper, never on the front, so hated by infantrymen. Risks of night visits. You've developed some good habits. You still have a dangerous job, where you make a lot of enemies, so again there is a risk of night visits. You care about your life. Besides, it's not the only habit you've kept from Afghanistan. So it wasn't very difficult to guess.”

He turned to the sniper, a smug expression on his face.

“Happy?”

Sebastian smiled at him flirtatiously.

“Do you know you're really sexy when you do that?”

“Do what?” Jim asked, suspicious.

“When you show off.”

The criminal smiled back.

“I'm sexy all the time.”

He was no longer the fragile little boy Sebastian had observed sleeping; the spider was back, as if it had never left. And his venom was seeping deep inside the sniper, paralyzing his survival instincts, annihilating the filter of his reason and awakening impulses that he was finding it increasingly difficult to control in Jim's presence.

In a fluid movement, he stood above the young man; his hands planted down next to his shoulders; their torsos almost touching; their noses a few millimetres apart. A small part of Sebastian's brain was shouting at him, _You idiot, what are you doing?_ But he ignored it and it quickly went quiet. Jim frowned briefly, surprised, and stared into the sniper's ocean blue eyes.

“Yes, all the time...” the blond replied in an admiring voice. “And when you show off, even more so.”

The smile had not disappeared from Jim's lips. It became mocking.

“Forget what I said about you wanting to live. I must have made a mistake.”

He still had the gun in his hand, the blond recalled - a little too late, when the cold steel of the barrel was pressed against his temple. Sebastian smiled even more broadly.

“You know it only encourages me, Jim.”

Neither one of them moved; their gazes seemed to be more firmly riveted than an anchor. The gun hadn't moved a millimetre. Only the regular upheavals of their torsos, a few millimetres apart, testified to the fact that they were not statues.

“Why?” Jim whispered eventually.

The answer rushed to Sebastian's mind, as clear as crystal, dictated by the spark in the criminal's eyes.

_Because I have lived through the war, and I am no longer afraid of danger._

_Because after the war, life is too boring without a thrill of adrenaline._

_Because a thrill of adrenaline is nothing compared to the drug you are to me._

_Because I love you, and I can't have you without the danger that goes with you._

_Because I don't want to have you without the danger that goes with you, and that is as much a part of you as your shining eyes, your diaphanous skin, your hair that looks like a crown of darkness, everything that makes you who you are and that I love so much._

_Because constantly threatening me shows me that you have noticed me, that you are interested in me, that I am not transparent like all the people you work with and that you despise and ignore. Because the danger is you, and it's you I want._

Only a few words crossed the barriers of his reason and his lips.

“No idea... Boss.”

There was a moment of silence, before he added in a hushed voice:

“Anyway, there was only one bullet in that gun.”

In the quiet silence of the room, only a small click-click resounded. Jim had pulled the trigger of the gun... which was indeed empty. Sebastian's heart missed a beat. Had the young man trusted him without hesitation when he told him that the gun was empty, or was he really ready to coldly murder him without a thought?

He had no time to ask himself any more questions, and slumped heavily on Jim's chest when the man savagely kneed him in the crotch. Then he carelessly pushed the sniper out of bed, got up and left the room without further ado. Sebastian was rolled in a foetal position on the carpet, growling in pain.

“I'll take care of breakfast,” James shouted from the hallway.

Sebastian stood up with difficulty, a silly smile on his face despite the pain. He had gotten what he deserved. And yet....

And yet a knee in his manhood was a very small inconvenience compared to the privilege of a night spent with Jim, and the intimacy they had shared for a few moments. The little Irishman could easily have put Sebastian out of harm's way as soon as the sniper had posed a threat, he was now sure of it. Yet he had given him this opportunity, a door that had closed very quickly but that Sebastian was determined to open again. Despite the danger behind it...

Just because that danger was called Jim.

 


	8. First date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter has arrived, and it is exactly what it says on the tin! In MorMor version, of course. And with the appearance of a surprise guest...  
> There is a little reference to a well-known novel about Moran and Moriarty, props to those who notice it. As always, many thanks to my amazing beta-readers, Alexandra and Finrod. And don't forget to leave a review or kudos!
> 
> Warnings: war (mentioned), scars

 

Nine times. Nine dates he asked Jim out on, and nine times he'd been refused. He wasn't crazy, he hadn't announced the dates as dates, but he knew that Jim had no illusions about his intentions. And the damn criminal was driving him nuts, showing him one day that he was interested in him, the next day completely ignoring him; flirting shamelessly with the sniper and systematically refusing all his advances. That was enough to discourage the most patient of suitors.

Sebastian stared at the wooden door of their apartment angrily, straightened his bowtie and smoothed his hair. He had decided to make one last attempt. If the tenth one didn't work, he would try something else to get his flatmate's attention. He didn't have much hope that Jim would accept, but, well, you never know. The young man had come home early that day (in theory, if he hadn't told him lies, which he did regularly), and had planned nothing else for the evening but to sit on the couch reading or watching the news while enjoying the stupidity of his human counterparts. Sebastian therefore considered that he stood a chance.

He sighed with resignation before finally deciding to push the door open. The apartment was silent: Jim wasn't watching TV - or he wasn't there.

“Jim?”

“Hel-lo, Sebastian!” a lazy voice replied from the next room.

The sniper dropped his stuff in the entry room and quickly moved into the next room. Jim was lying on the sofa, with a novel in his hand, and was looking up at the newcomer. Sebastian realized that he should be feeling some stress, have a tight chest or his heart pounding faster than usual, but after nine attempts, he was starting to get quite used to it and wasn’t really afraid of rejection anymore.

“Still no plans for tonight?”

Jim pretended to think for a moment, before answering:

“Besides spending my evening enjoying your wonderful presence by my side? No, not really.”

All right. Despite the mockery, it seemed like a good start.

“They're playing Hamlet at the Pleasance Theatre tonight. A revisited and more modern version. Since you're into the theatre, I thought maybe... you might be interested?”

Still staring into his sniper's eyes, Jim remained quiet for a moment. It was not his principle to make it easy for Sebastian (or anyone else), but the young man seemed to have run out of patience. It was time for Jim to give a little of himself in the game. And, well.... Hamlet, Pleasance Theatre, tonight? It seemed to match the information he had obtained.

Sebastian tensed up, prepared for a tenth and final refusal, when his friend finally announced:

“Why not. At what time is it?”

The tension in the veteran's shoulders eased, and a more sincere smile appeared on his face.

“In an hour. It's not very far away, we can easily walk there and get a comfortable lead if we leave now.”

Jim nodded and rested his novel on the coffee table next to the couch. Sebastian’s gaze followed him as he put some order back into the living room before going to get dressed - Sebastian hadn't taken off his suit after returning to the apartment, and had simply gotten rid of his jacket and bag. The sniper moved to the hallway and put back on the coat he had discarded a few moments earlier. It was only when he finally passed through the apartment door and got outside that his situation fully struck him.

_Okay, so I'm going out to the theatre with my boss/flatmate/potential future murderer. Now what do I do?_

It was getting dark when they got out into the street. The air was cold and a sudden wind made them both shiver. To Sebastian's great surprise, Jim held out his arm and smiled. After a moment of hesitation, the blond took it and smiled with gratitude. He royally ignored the hateful gaze of a few homophobes who passed them, and guided his companion through the gloomy streets of London.

“Why this particular play?” Jim finally asked after a moment of silent walking.

Sebastian took a moment to think before answering.

“It's one of the few Shakespeare plays I know. To be honest, I studied it in school when I was a kid... I was curious to see a revisited version. Besides, I know you like Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare... yes, an old childhood love.”

Sebastian did not comment on the incongruous choice of words. Jim was obviously talking about the fact that he liked the work of the great playwright, not that he had a crush on a man who had died several centuries ago... or was he?

Come to think of it, coming from him it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

“And Hamlet is his only work you know?” the young man continued.

“Almost. This one, and Romeo and Juliet. The classics, you know.”

Jim's smile grew colder.

“I really like Romeo and Juliet. It's so much more interesting than sappy little romances. I prefer tragic endings.”

Sebastian turned to him, surprised but careful to show only a polite interest.

“Why is that so?”

“Modern love stories are all the same. The girl doesn't know who to choose between two boys, she first leans for the handsome thug, who mistreats her before she turns in despair to the loving fill-in. They lived happily ever after and had many children. So predictable, so boring. You know in advance how it's going to end, there's no emotion, no suspense. While in a tragedy... there are so many possibilities, so many ways to end badly. Besides, it's a lot more like real life. How many failed love stories do we live before we finally find the right person? Assuming we find them and haven't killed ourselves first.”

The silence settled for a few seconds, before Sebastian asked:

“How many failed love stories have you lived through?”

Perhaps the question was a bad idea, one step too many beyond the invisible line that separated him from his mysterious roommate. But Jim's arm on his own, the warmth of his body beside him in the fresh evening air, the sound of his voice stretching into a long tirade uncovering a little more of the hidden corners of his heart, reinforced his idea that maybe, _maybe_ , today he would be allowed to ask questions. He didn’t expect anything as incredible as a clear answer, only something other than silence and a harsh correction.

“One.”

Sebastian didn't say a word, encouraging Jim to keep going.

“Many, actually, but only one that really mattered.”

Silence.

“I got over it eventually.”

Seeing the way Jim was talking about it, Sebastian doubted the veracity of his last statement. Even if the criminal had forgotten the wound left by that event, no scar ever really disappeared. They always remained, pale white lines that drew one’s character on the mistreated canvas of their skin and their existence. The sniper was in a good position to know; he had received many, both physical and emotional. And yet, no matter what hardship he may have gone through, he knew deep down that nothing could compare to the life Jim had had and that had forced him to retract behind those masks, to protect himself with false identities, false actions, false characters, and real violence. Without noticing, he squeezed the little man's arm a little harder with his own. Jim didn't mind. The criminal could follow the thread of his companion's thoughts, he could read in his mind like an open book - it was easy, after almost a year of cohabitation with an impulsive man wearing his heart on his sleeve; and he knew which questions were torturing his sniper's mind, just as he knew he would not answer them. Not today, anyway... someday, perhaps.

The journey continued to the rhythm of a banal conversation about the joys of theatre - Jim pretending to be exasperated by Sebastian's lack of culture, and joyfully remedying the veteran's deficiencies in Shakespeare's work. They soon arrived at the theatre, the sniper did everything possible to act gallant - holding the door for Jim, insisting on paying for the tickets (which Jim probably wouldn't even have offered to do. After all, Sebastian had invited him, he was the one who should be paying!)... The little Irishman chose the seats himself, explaining to his date why the first high row was the best.

They were finally sitting in the audience, the heavy red curtains were closed and soft music was playing in the background. Sebastian was distractedly looking around the room when he jumped at the contact of cool finger on his cheek. He turned to Jim, surprised.

“Tell me, where these scars come from”, said the young man in a hushed tone.

It was not a question, but he hadn’t put in the intonations of an order either. Sebastian pondered for a moment, disconcerted by Jim's persistent caress following the thin white lines on his face. There were so many marks on his body that it would be complicated to tell the story of each one. But most importantly, Jim didn't need to know what he had been through. It was ancient history, which he had made the effort to forget.

“Some of them are your work...” he recalled when Jim's fingers left his cheek, leaving a burning ghost where they had been.

“The others.”

Sebastian's gaze was lost in the darkness of the stage.

“War leaves traces that cannot be erased. I always keep a part of the fighting in me. For better or for worse.”

“You were a sniper. A sniper isn’t on the front.”

Too smart.

“I was a sniper in Afghanistan, but it wasn't my first front. I started my military career in India with the First Bengalore Pioneers. That's where I got hurt the most.”

“Foot soldier, then.”

“In other words, cannon fodder. This one”, his fingers touched his eyebrow slit by a white line, “I got from of a grenade chip. Within two centimetres, I was one-eyed. But I heal fast, and it mended in no time.”

He then pointed to his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose.

“That was a fight between rookies. The more experienced ones managed to turn us against each other, it was an entertainment for them. I was the strongest, I usually knocked out the weaklings before they had time to bat an eye, but there was one smart kid who caught me by surprise. The classic razor blade sewn into the visor of his cap. You should always be wary of the smart ones.”

Jim smiled like a shark.

“I can confirm...”

Sebastian smiled back, before pointing to a small white triangle on his chin.

“I fell on a rock as a kid. It's not very glorious.”

“And that one?” Jim asked, stroking the veteran's lower lip.

Sebastian shivered under the light caress that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“My first kiss. I don't think she really wanted me to kiss her.”

He turned to Jim, who was staring intensely at his scarred lip, his face unreadable.

“What?”

A slight grin appeared on the young man's lips.

“She didn't know what she was missing, then.”

Sebastian leaned towards his companion.

“Neither do you.”

“Tut-tut-tut…” Jim murmured, amused. “You must have a bad memory; you’ve already kissed me. Or did it make such little impression on you? Maybe I should have given you a scar like that one, just to remind you of me every time you look in the mirror...”

Sebastian had continued to get closer, without realizing that Jim was doing the same. Their faces were only a few inches apart when the sniper became aware of the criminal's warm breath on his skin, and the undeniable spark of madness in the depths of his eyes. He instinctively closed his eyelids - a poor barrier against the danger that was inexorably approaching - and stretched his lips towards Jim's...

“Try again,” the criminal's icy voice whispered in his ear, “and I swear to you that keeping a scar will be the least of your worries.”

Sebastian froze and opened his eyes (realizing at the same time that he had closed them), before letting his head fall on his companion's shoulder.

“Jiiiim...” he sighed. “Do you know how frustrating you can be sometimes?”

The voice in his ear lost its coldness and became more amused.

“And that's what you like. If I gave you exactly what you wanted, you wouldn't want it anymore, would you?”

Sebastian did not answer. The criminal knew him by heart, knew what he thought, how he reacted, to the point that he managed to play with his feelings like a musical instrument. But here he was wrong: Sebastian knew that his feelings would not change, no matter what Jim did.

Noting that Jim didn’t seem to want to dislodge him, Sebastian decided to enjoy the young man's proximity for a few more moments. It didn't take long for the Irishman to start tracing the scars on the sniper's neck and back. Very few were visible, but they suggested more under his clothes.

“And these?” Jim said in a hushed voice. “Where do they come from?”

Sebastian sat up slowly and grabbed his companion's hand, moving it away from his back.

“It's a long story. Too long for today.”

It wasn’t hard to hear the pain in his voice, and Jim didn't miss it.

“Tell me”, he insisted nonetheless in an authoritative voice.

Although he had taken the habit of obeying without arguing (too much) with his superior, Sebastian resigned himself to simply shaking his head. He didn't want to sadden the evening with the horrors of war, and James didn't need to know everything that had happened to him. Not yet, at least; because knowing the man’s will, he would have to explain to him one day or another the origin of these marks. Sebastian had already noticed that his scars seemed to fascinate Jim. The sniper didn’t know how to interpret this attraction, and he was simply hoping that it reflected an interest in his story and his person. He could tell Jim's interest in him had been growing lately. Far from being love, the feeling was there nonetheless, and although the little Irishman, was constantly playing hide-and-seek with his emotions, it was undeniable that he was interested in Sebastian.

“I'll tell you about it someday. But not today.”

The dying of the lights from the room and the three knocks that broke the sudden silence offered a momentary diversion; the two men turned to the curtain that opened slowly, the weight of unsaid words gradually fading away to make way for the story.

oOoOoOo

 

The three hours ten minutes of the play had passed in a flash, for Jim and Sebastian alike. While the former had followed the story with much interest (Sebastian had even observed him silently mimicking the monologues), the latter had had difficulty following the plot's thread and unravelling its knots; further proof, if any was needed, that theatre was not his cup of tea. In the middle of the play, during intermission, Jim had gone out of the room with his phone, a worried look on his face. On his way back, he had briefly explained to his partner that "work needed him," but after he had solved the problem, he quickly made it clear to his interlocutor that he was not to be disturbed again during the evening, except in case of a major crisis. Although Sebastian suspected the importance and urgency of the call (after all, Jim was extremely high up in the network, and his presence was certainly required for meticulous operations that could easily go wrong), he felt a touch of jealousy when the criminal went out to take the call. On the other hand, the fact that he had ordered to not be disturbed suggested that the evening held some importance to him.

Jim did not immediately leave the room with the flow of spectators, but instead headed for the stage, now deserted. Sebastian called out to him.

“What are you doing? The exit is on the other side.”

Jim stopped in his track but didn’t turn around.

“I want to go talk to the actors”, he replied.

“Is that allowed?”

“Not officially, but all theatre lovers do that, and it makes the troupe happy.”

Sebastian sighed.

“I'll wait for you in the lobby, if you don't mind. I would look like an uneducated swine.”

Jim shrugged as he back towards the backstage door.

“Do as you wish. I'll be with you soon.”

He pushed the door and entered, leaving the sniper behind him.

The backstage was noisy, compared to the now empty theatre. Jim could hear the rustling of the costumes being put away, the hushed conversations of the actors, the yells of the few who were asking around who had stolen their script... As he entered the back room where the lockers were located, a man in the theatre uniform approached Jim.

“Only the cast and crew are allowed in this area, sir”, he announced.

The criminal gave him his most polite smile.

“Oh, I know. I came to see Richard. He's the one who plays Hamlet.”

The man looked him up and down, and frowned his brow. Then his face lit up.

“Yes, of course! You must be his brother! I'm sorry, I should have known. Does he know you're here?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Richard is changing, I'll see if he's finished.”

The man went to the locker room, Jim on his heels. He only stopped when his guide crossed the curtain that bordered the actors' personal space. He listened to the muffled discussion on the other side of the fabric.

“Richard? There's a visitor for you.”

“Who is it?”

“A surprise! He's outside.”

“Okay, tell him I'll be right there.”

The theatre employee came out of the small cabin and told Jim:

“He’s almost done.”

The criminal nodded and leaned against the wall, with an amused smile on his face, while the man walked away. A few moments later, Richard also left the cabin, looking around for the visitor. He froze when he noticed Jim who had just got up.

“Hi, Richie!” greeted the criminal with a happy face.

It was obvious that Richie was not particularly happy to see him.

The two men were spitting images of each other, except for Richard's messy hair, while James’ was perfectly combed, and the fact that he was wearing a suit while his brother had just changed into a tight t-shirt and jeans. Despite their identical features, Richard seemed more fragile Jim, who radiated charisma.

“Hello”, the actor finally answered after a few moments of hesitation. “What do you want?”

“I'm here to see how my dear brother is doing! Your performance was pretty good. You can be proud of yourself.”

Richard didn’t bother thanking his brother.

“If you’ve just come to congratulate me, I'd rather you leave, Jim.”

“Ooh, that's how you greet your brother you haven't seen in months?” replied Jim with an air of feigned disappointment. “I'm offended, Richie, terribly offended.”

Richard lowered his head.

“I'm... I'm glad to see you too Jim, so glad you liked the play, but you probably have a lot to do. And so do I.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I do have things to do! Goods, shall we say, to be transported to Cornwall. Fal Vale would be the ideal transit point. It's rare for you to bother coming to London, so I’m taking advantage of your presence to ask you this little favour. Would you do that for me?”

“A favour? In what honour?”

Jim smiled coldly.

“I won’t insult you by pretending that it's in honour of our fraternal bonds, you haven't believed in it for a long time. You'll get paid. A lot.”

“The only payment I could be satisfied with would be if you would finally leave me alone, Jim!” his brother uttered, outraged. “You know how I feel about your activities. There's no point in me telling you, you're grown up and you do what you want, but I don't want to be involved in your business anymore! Find yourself another carrier!”

“Unfortunately, no one is as professional and discreet as you are.”

“Probably because they don't take you seriously when you tell them that they’re the ones who’ll pay if they don't accept...”

“Precisely. But you know that.”

Richard looked down again so as not to cross his brother's triumphant gaze.

“You’re staying a week in London, I believe. The goods will be at West Hampstead Station next Saturday at five in the morning. Some of my people will be there too, to make sure that everything goes as planned. I'm counting on your discretion.”

“...yes.”

Jim patted his brother's head, getting a murderous look for it, which he completely ignored.

“Good. I'll send you the details in a few days. Nice meeting you, bro! And congratulations again on your performance,” he said as he walked away towards the exit under the young man’s desperate gaze.

As expected, Sebastian was waiting for him in the lobby of the theatre. When he saw his companion coming, he approached him and gallantly extended his arm; Jim took it, thanking him with a smile.

“It's funny,” the sniper announced as they were leaving the building, “the lead actor looked a bit like you.”

Jim turned to him, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Really?”

“It was hard to tell from afar and with all that makeup, but there was a little resemblance.”

Jim let out a laugh.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m often told that I look like other people, that's all.”

They walked a few feet in silence, before Jim asked:

“Well, what do we do now? It's only eleven, we're not going home now.”

Sebastian smiled. He was pleased to see that they shared the same vision of nightlife.

“I was thinking of taking you to a bar.”

“One of those dingy bars that former soldiers and mercenaries frequent?”

“Being a mercenary and a former soldier, I don't know many others”, Seb replied. “But if you have any suggestions, I'll take them.”

“Okay, but you're paying.”

“You’re aware that I have a limited budget, right?”

“...All right, I’m paying”, the criminal conceded. “Anyway, I earn more in a month than you do in a year, it's only fair that I help a bit. Not that I care for fairness, of course.”

_But you care about me_ , Sebastian thought, without saying it out loud.

Jim took him to a small restaurant on a barge moored on the banks of the Thames. The setting, with its view of the city illuminated by its night lights, was splendid; but Sebastian paid little attention to it, too busy admiring Jim. The young man's ability to appear serious and frightening, enticing, or as adorable as a wet puppy, would never cease to amaze him. One could think they were reading him like in an open book, when in truth he only showed what he wanted people to see. But whatever mask he wore, Sebastian found him inevitably attractive.

Jim, on the other hand, stealthily watched Sebastian when he was looking away. He had no difficulty looking the sniper in the eye when they were talking, but for some reason, staring straight at him made him uncomfortable. But above all, he didn't want to make his attraction to him obvious. The veteran radiated self-confidence, will, everything in him showed raw strength and the marks of a difficult life. It could seem surprising from a young man in his early thirties, but Jim was used to the hardships of youth, having been both the victim and the cause. He was constantly looking for the presence of people who had seen the true face of life, who had gone through hardships that had changed them from ordinary people. And although Sebastian was drastically different from the little Irishman, he was one of them. But what fascinated Jim about the sniper was not so much his heroic past as a soldier, nor his skills as an assassin; it was mostly his attitude towards the criminal. James used to observe human feelings in a detached way, looking for a rational explanation, which he always found. Even when he himself gave in to his emotions (which was still rare), he always found a reason for it. But while he could understand the fascination Sebastian had with his mysterious character, and his desire to take up the challenge of Jim's identity, he could not explain the tenacity and loyalty of the sniper. Could attraction and curiosity alone be responsible for an irrational behaviour like Moran's, who persisted in trying to uncover Jim's true identity, even though he knew that what he might discover there would be much more dangerous than the already scary individual with whom he was currently dealing?

The criminal understood human nature as a physical phenomenon, governed by cause-and-effect laws, that could be understood, but Sebastian's behaviour was still an unexplained phenomenon.

Meanwhile, an ignored part of Jim's mind was repeating over and over to him to stop lying to himself and looking for arguments and explanations for his own desires. But it had been a long time since the criminal had barricaded the door to that little voice.

When they finally returned to their apartment, the two friends were a little drunk and significantly poorer (alcohol on the barges was not cheap), but the evening had been a profitable time to escape the pressure of their daily lives. Jim, laughing, had promised Sebastian that they would go out again; Sebastian took note, counting on his promise. He had the clear impression that he had taken another step forward in the difficult task of taming the young man. He could always dream, he had few illusions about his chances for his love to be reciprocal; but he hoped at least to be able to gain Jim's trust.

They both fell asleep alone, dreaming of each other's arms.

 


	9. Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New week, new chapter, new problems for Sebastian. This chapter is one of my favorites, possibly my favorite, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I had fun writing it. It's really a key moment in the fic. As usual, many thanks to my betas, Alexandra and Finrod, for making sure I only give you perfect, grammatically correct English!   
> Enjoy the story, and see you after the chapter for reviews!
> 
> Warnings: attempted murder, mind games

 

In three months, Jim had accepted five dates - still not declared as such, of course. Sebastian had always been the one who proposed the outing (and therefore the one who paid), but he was confident that the initiative would one day come from Jim.

In addition to the dates, the Irishman had become accustomed to sleeping regularly in Sebastian's bed - initially joining him in the middle of the night, then quickly he decided to come and occupy his room all evening. Of course, it would be complicated now to use the excuse of the nightmare, but he wasn't even trying, and Sebastian didn't make any comments, gratefully accepting these few moments of proximity.

Sebastian was finding it increasingly difficult to define their situation. The only certain points were their relationship as flatmates, and boss/employee (in addition to his regular assassination missions paid by the Big Boss, he had eventually been officially hired by James as a part-time bodyguard). He could hardly describe himself as Jim's friend, they had been past that stage for a while now, but it would be wrong, and even dangerous, to say that they were in a relationship. They were in a kind of transitory state that was stretching on, and of which Sebastian was totally uncertain of the outcome.

The sniper returned that day from a perfectly boring stake out, where he was formally forbidden from approaching his finger within a metre of the trigger. He had to spend the afternoon describing via walkie-talkie the comings and goings of several trucks in the courtyard of an abandoned factory, and as a matter of fact, he had not had any explanation as to the purpose of his actions. He of course did not expect to be told exactly what the Firm's activities consisted of, but he was slightly annoyed that he was being given such a trivial mission rather than putting his sniper skills to better use. Therefore he was tired and deeply bored as he set out to the nearest pub, where he had planned to spend the end of his afternoon.

He was walking down a nearly empty street halfway between the building guarded by the Firm and the life-saving bar, when his phone rang. He stopped in his track and picked up almost immediately.

“ _Sebastian Moran?”_ a cold, professional voice asked in the speaker.

“It's me.”

“ _Mr. Moriarty wants to see you. Immediately.”_

Sebastian felt like someone had pressed all the air from his lungs. It was extremely rare for the Boss to ask to see one of the agents in the network as low as the sniper. His first reflex was to review all the mistakes, reprehensible actions or non-compliance with orders he had recently committed. He found none. Temporarily relieved, he considered the "not in danger" option - he quickly realized that he had no idea what it could be.

“How do I...” he began to ask.

“ _A car will come and pick you up_ ”, the voice cut him off.

Indeed, a black limousine with tinted windows was coming towards him from the end of the street. Sebastian watched it as it approached and parked right next to him.

“It's here.”

“ _I know.”_

And his correspondent hung up.

A man came out of the back door while Sebastian was putting his phone away, and without a word, beckoned him to get in. The sniper complied; the man came in after him, closed the door behind him, sat on the seat across from him, and the car started.

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before Sebastian asked:

“You’re not blindfolding me?”

The other barely gave him a look.

“You're not going to headquarters.”

Another silence.

“And do you have any idea why I'm being summoned?”

“No.”

So much for small talk.

Sebastian took out his phone again to text his flatmate.

" _I'll be home later than expected tonight. I'm sorry_.”

A few minutes passed before the device emitted a slight vibration.

" _Really? Too bad, I was planning on inviting you to the restaurant tonight. I’ll find someone else to come with me._ ”

Well, shit. He had to be summoned to the highest level precisely on the day Jim had finally decided to return the favour of the invitation. And now he was threatening to go out with someone else. Moriarty had better have a good reason for wanting to see him.

A second message appeared on the screen.

" _Yet another murder?_ ”

Sebastian looked up at the man sitting on the seat across from him. He was still staring at him but didn't seem intent on stopping him from communicating with Jim.

" _I don't know_ " he wrote in response. " _A high-level summoning. No way I can avoid it._ " It was probably all he could communicate to him without risking retaliation.

No answer came, except an acknowledgement of receipt.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach a warehouse on the Thames docks. Sebastian's guide got out of the car, soon followed by the sniper.

“Leave your weapon inside,” the man said, pointing to the rifle bag Sebastian had just grabbed.

He complied, but the man added:

“Your gun too.”

The blond reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and dropped the revolver it contained onto the back seat. Then he looked around, while the man closed the door behind them. They were in a deserted street lined with concrete and metal buildings; a few crates were lying around, and all he could hear was the muffled sounds of the water and the constant clamour of the city. A persistent fish smell permeated the area.

“This way,” the man announced.

Sebastian followed him to the large sliding iron door in front of which they had stopped; the only one on the street to be open. The interior was hidden in utmost darkness, save for a few gleams of light falling from the openings placed high up.

“He's waiting for you inside.”

“Inside... Am I allowed a bit more precise indications?” asked Sebastian.

The other looked at him like he was dealing with a fool.

“Go straight ahead. There is a staircase, and a room on the upper floor.”

Then he walked away towards the exit.

Sebastian turned towards the corridor that was sinking into darkness. In the perfect silence of the place, his heart seemed to make a god-awful racket. He was alone, totally unarmed, in a darkened building in which there were probably several bodyguards and assassins - it was obvious that Moriarty was not going anywhere without protection. The interview was starting to look more and more like a trap. He controlled the shivers that ran along his back and marched towards the stairs that led into darkness. The sound of his footsteps on the concrete echoed against the bare walls, announcing his arrival as surely as a walkie-talkie message.

A large windowless opening illuminated part of the upper floor. The room was devoid of furniture: no crates, no trestles, no shelves. There was only one table set against a wall, which seemed completely displaced in this empty and dilapidated environment. A good half of the space was still in darkness.

Sebastian stood still in the middle of the room, waiting for someone to tell him what to do, or for his boss to show up, or even for the sky to fall on his head. He first thought that the room was empty, before the darkness in front of him shuffled, and a vague silhouette appeared. He squinted: he could make out a small man wearing a suit, but it was impossible to distinguish the details.

A voice that seemed to have passed through ten layers of auto-tune filled the room, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

“ _Hel-lo, Sebastian_ _!”_

A vocoder, darkness to hide his face, a disused warehouse... Moriarty seemed to be obsessed with his anonymity.

“Sir.”

“ _Do you know why you're here, Sebastian?”_

Was he supposed to know that? That did not bode well.

“No, sir.”

The voice sounded excessively joyful. Clearly, the confusion in which he had been plunged for some time was very amusing to his invisible interlocutor.

“ _I have a mission for you_.”

Good news: it wasn't a threat or punishment. Although... it remained to be seen what the mission was all about.

“ _A very special mission. For which I need a trustworthy man.”_

Having Moriarty's trust was not necessarily very reassuring news.

“ _Can I trust you, Sebastian?”_

Obviously, there was only one possible answer to that question, if he wanted to get out of that building alive.

“Of course, sir.”

“ _Why?”_

Oops, trick question. Sebastian's brain was running at full speed. What did Moriarty expect from him? Was it some kind of motivational interview, like the one he went through when he joined the army? The problem was that in the army, the only thing that depended on his answer was his admission, not his survival. He opted for the most honest answer possible. That was probably what the criminal was expecting, rather than some bullshit about loyalty or any other empty phrases.

“Because it is more in my interest to follow your orders than to disobey them.”

This suggested that he knew the consequences of possible disobedience and did not underestimate the Firm's ability to repress troublemakers.

Sebastian remained straight as a pole, as quiet as possible. His situation seemed stable enough for the moment, and he had no reason to panic yet; on the contrary, it was better to remain in full possession of his intellectual faculties. He knew very little about Moriarty, apart from the rumours that circulated in the network and that all had a different opinion (the sniper even suspected the man to start some of them himself), but for what he knew, criminal geniuses of his kind were often real weathercocks, and one could get very easily on their bad side at the slightest false step.

“ _I appreciate people who know their priorities_ ,” the disembodied voice said. “ _I need you to kill someone.”_

That was within his skillset.

“ _The limo will take you to a building a few miles away from here. It's an office complex. You'll have to watch the building across the street. In one of the offices a man is going to come. He'll be alone. He won't stay there very long, he's just passing through. You'll have to shoot him before he has a chance to leave. Details of the location will be communicated to you when you are on site.”_

“What about his identity?”

An awkward silence settled in.

“ _Do you really need to know that?”_

The voice had suddenly grown colder, as far as he could judge through the vocoder. Sebastian usually received basic information about his victims - their names, ages, and all the data that could be useful in identifying the person: place of work, home, means of transportation and route most often used.... What Moriarty was describing to him seemed to be a target served on a golden platter. On second thought, perhaps it was better not to insist on the identity of the target.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“ _Good. Then... off you go.”_

Sebastian nodded, before turning his back to the silhouette and heading for the stairs. As he was leaving the building, he tried to analyse his situation. The interview was far from what he had imagined. He had only been given a place, a time and a target, Moriarty did not need to summon him in person for that. What he really wanted, in his opinion, was to impress him, frighten him, and observe his reaction. Even though he knew the criminal's reputation, Sebastian knew how to keep calm in crisis situations, so a simple interview with his mysterious boss had no reason to produce more adrenaline than normal.

The anonymity of the target, and the man's question about his trust, were the only elements worthy of interest in the interview, in Sebastian’s opinion. The rest was just technical details. Why would the Big Boss summon him personally for a simple murder? Only one possible answer: a test. The question was what exactly was being tested. Considering of the trick question Moriarty had asked him, the sniper would bet on his loyalty to the Firm. As for the result, in the happy case where he succeeded, it was not very difficult to guess: a raise, or more likely - a promotion. Sebastian was delighted about this. Although he was satisfied with a subordinate role, he really preferred positions of responsibility. For some time, he had been leading a small group of snipers and other field assassins (who had never met him before, while he knew everything there was to know about them); but this remained a minor position for the veteran, who had once been a colonel in the army. Although he appreciated working in the field, he would certainly not refuse a promotion to a higher position.

He tried not to think too much about the possibility of failing the test, the consequences of which ranged from demotion to outright murder.

The black limousine took him to a business district, relatively far from the warehouses. He was dropped in front of a building identical to all the other in the area. During the trip, he had received by text a plan of the building in question, as well as a photo of the building he had to watch. The targeted window was circled in red. Still not the slightest information on his target’s identity, not even a picture. Nevertheless, the directions in the message were clear: the circled office was the target's, and the target was the only person with the keys. No risk of collateral damage. He could only hope that the unlucky mystery man didn't have the bad idea of bringing a friend to his office.

According to the map, he had easy access to the roof of the building. He had been provided with a guest badge, which allowed him to enter the building and gave him access to the terraces, among other things. For once, Sebastian thanked God for the London drizzle: he didn't usually like working in the rain, but it guaranteed him quiet and peace on the roof. He had dismantled his weapon and hidden its components in his coat and backpack. The building belonged to a small company, which had not considered it necessary to have a more advanced security system than the standard beefcakes, the ones who stood in a corner and watched the comings and goings with a reproving look in the hope that the terrorists would come forward to denounce themselves.

As he entered the elevator, he put his headphones on his ears and started a piece of classical music. It was a habit he had recently developed; it helped him clear his head and silence all the thoughts that were bothering him, so that he could concentrate more on the task at hand. Once on the roof, he had relegated to a corner of his mind one of the men under his command asking for new gear, his failed date with Jim, and even the ins and outs of the mysterious test he was passing. Only the window circled in red counted, and the walking dead man who would appear there at any moment. Calmly, he set up his tripod, reassembled his gun and placed the window in his sights. Then he stopped the music. Although the break was beneficial to him, Sebastian's principle was to keep all his senses alert when he was working. He highly doubted that a security officer of the company would come to join him on the terrace, but he didn't want to take any risks.

He stood under the freezing drizzle for nearly twenty minutes, his eyes riveted on the office window through a pair of binoculars. The noise of the cars came from below, muffled by the distance and the rain. Water began to seep into his coat, slowly but surely freezing him to death, and he checked three times that the scope of his weapon was not wet - the small draft shield attached to it was designed to prevent any raindrops on the viewfinder, and he was only concerned about it out of pure professionalism.

After exactly twenty-one minutes, he saw the office door open. He traded his binoculars for the scope of his rifle but was careful not to move it. He didn’t know how much time he had to shoot down the target, whom according to his information was not to stay in the office for long; nevertheless, he had to wait until the target closed the door behind him, to allow himself more time if he missed his first shot; and if possible, wait for him to approach the bay window.

The sniper's breathing was slow and steady, as he placed a light finger on the trigger of his weapon. Then it stopped sharply when the target closed the door behind him and turned towards the window.

Sebastian almost fired by reflex, in the grip of surprise.

The scope enlarged the view enough for the man's face to be recognizable, and there was no doubt about it. It was Richard James Brook standing in the small office behind the bay window, right within Sebastian's shooting range.

The sniper may brag about his perfect self-control in a crisis, but he had difficulty controlling his nerves when the situation affected his emotions rather than his chances of survival. The problem was that here the situation concerned both. The veteran's nervous system decided to send the maximum dose of adrenaline.

His first thought was denial. There must have been a mistake. It was the wrong window. He eagerly rechecked the document: he was aiming at the very office Moriarty had designated. Perhaps the constantly hormone-drowned part of his brain had made him recognize the man of his dreams where there was only a simple stranger sharing a few traits with Jim? Certainly not: he was his spitting image. Maybe... maybe Jim had a secret twin?

_You utter moron_ , he reprimanded himself. _Secret twins don't exist in real life!_

Then the pieces of the puzzle finally came into place in his mind.

_Can I trust you, Sebastian?_

It was a test.

Moriarty knew everything about his employees. Including the fact that Sebastian and James were living together. Chances were he was aware of Sebastian's feelings for his flatmate. After all, they had gone out several times together, and the sniper did not refrain from showing his affection for the young man.

If he passed the test, he would likely get a promotion.

And by killing Brook, he was freeing up a high-ranking position in the Firm.

All of a sudden, the horror of the situation came to him.

“Shit, shit, shit, _shit_ , _SHIT!_ ” he yelled, violently kicking his backpack. “What a fucking shitty life!”

Sebastian took his phone out of his pocket. Never had he wished so much for the person he loved to be on a date with someone else. With a trembling hand, he found his flatmate's name in his recent contacts and typed a short text. He had no doubt that his communications were being monitored, so making a phone call to Jim was out of the question. He could only hope that the young man would see the message immediately and trust him without question.

" _Moriarty wants you dead. Run._ "

Through his binoculars, Sebastian saw Jim gather a pile of files on the desk, put them in his jacket and leave the room. The sniper continued to stare into the bay window for a few moments, then put away his phone and began to dismantle his weapon.

 

If Moriarty thought he could use him as an unwilling pawn for his spring cleaning of the Firm, he was barking up the wrong tree.

The outcome of the test was now clear: he had failed. And if his communications were indeed monitored, he had only made his case worse by warning Jim. Sebastian didn't really have a very clear idea of what would happen to him now, although he was almost certain that it would result in the end of his life. He didn't care much: he had always known that he would die young, and the early thirties seemed like a more than acceptable end for a veteran of India and Afghanistan who had reconverted into organized crime. For the time being, he could see no further than his growing anger towards the criminal who had thought he could play with his feelings. He now intended to go and tell him his displeasure in person - even if it was the last thing he did in his life.

 

The limousine was still parked on the street, where it had dropped him off half an hour earlier. Sebastian opened the rear door on the fly.

“I want to see Moriarty!” he shouted to the employee still sitting in the back seat.

“You're lucky, then. He wants to see you too.”

Sebastian threw his bag on the seat and sat in front of the man, with the unpleasant impression that he was still being led around by the nose even though he was trying to stand out of the system.

If Moriarty had summoned him again, it meant he had already been warned of his failure. He wasn't sure if he knew about the panicked text he sent to Jim, but unfortunately it was more than likely. Sebastian feared for the young man's chances of survival. He took a look at his phone: no answer, only an acknowledgement of receipt. At least he had read the message. Sebastian prayed that he had wisdom to follow his advice.

The journey to the warehouse seemed much faster on the way back than on the outward journey. His gun hadn’t been returned to him, and his rifle was in pieces in his backpack, so he was unarmed again. In any case, he held little hope on his chances of killing, or even injuring, his employer.

The warehouse was still as dark and silent as ever. It was impossible to know if Moriarty had left the building during the time of the test, or if he had been waiting around for almost an hour for the sniper.

The space upstairs was no longer empty. When Sebastian ran into the vast room, he didn’t find his boss there, but a small figure nonchalantly leaning against the wall near the table in the illuminated area. The sniper stopped in his track, before rushing towards it, won by panic.

“Jim! What the hell are you doing here? I told you to leave!”

“Impossible.”

Sebastian put his hands on his friend's frail shoulders and examined his face.

“Did he do something to you? Are you all right?”

Jim shook his head. Sebastian could have noticed his amused grin if he was not too busy with his worry and anger.

“I’m fine. No one hurt me, Sebastian.”

“Where is that fucking bastard?” the sniper growled. “He doesn't even have the balls to come out of his hole!”

He turned to the shadow area and put his hands in a megaphone.

“Moriarty! If you're a man, get out of there and come to me, for fuck’s sake!”

The speakers hidden all around the room made the answer sound like a dozen Siri speaking in unison.

“ _I'm here_.”

Far from feeling his will waver, Sebastian only grew angrier.

“Come and talk to me face to face!”

“ _I'm right under your nose. Observe a little and_ think.”

Sebastian froze. The digital voices had been silenced and replaced by a single one, recognizable among thousands. He turned around and looked at Jim, helpless. The young man no longer looked like a puny employee who had just been within an inch of getting killed. He stared at Sebastian with a shark's smile. And he was holding in his hand, a few centimetres from his face, a small black box with a microphone.

The sniper took a step back. Anger gave way to horror as the situation became clear to him.

“No... no, no, no... Jim, are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?”

Jim let out a hollow laugh.

“A very good joke. And you fell riiight into the trap.”

Anger resurfaced, little by little. At least that, he knew how to control. Sebastian calmed down, and asked, in a voice that was barely shaking:

“You were in cahoots with him from the beginning, weren't you? He never meant for me to kill you. You were in cahoots with Moriarty to make a fool out of me.”

Jim ran a weary hand on his face.

“I asked you to _think_. Stop denying what you already know, Sebastian, and get your brain cells to work. I hate people who don't want to bother thinking.”

Silence settled. The two men were staring into each other's eyes, and Sebastian's jaw was clenching a little tighter every second.

Then he finally put words on the idea that was trying to come to his attention from the moment he saw the vocoder.

“You _are_ Moriarty.”

A more sincere smile came as an answer. Moriarty clapped his hands slowly.

“Well done, well done. It took you long enough, but you finally got it.”

Sebastian turned his back on him and started pacing around the room, trying to silence the murderous thoughts that were invading his head. He needed all his self-control to stop himself from jumping on Jim and strangling him.

“So... you use me as a cover for over a year, then you ask me to kill you, before letting me understand that this is all a charade and that I am the butt of the joke. And all this for what, in the end?”

“It was a test.”

“And would you mind telling me what exactly you wanted to test?”

“Your loyalty. I think you guessed it, there's a promotion at stake.”

He went silent for a moment. Sebastian still had his back turned and didn't seem keen on intervening.

“My second is in the next room. In pieces. I need a new one. And you're the perfect candidate.”

“And this is how you do job interviews?”

“Not usually. This special treatment is just for you, Sebby.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, then faced Jim again and said:

“May I ask what he did to end up in pieces?”

Moriarty shrugged.

“He thought it was a good idea to sell information about me to MI6. I hope you won't make the same mistake.”

Sebastian resumed walking, returning to Jim.

“You suggest I be your second in command. Me.”

“Mmmh-hmm.”

“I just failed your little test. I just disobeyed one of your orders. What makes you think you can trust me?”

He looked down at the criminal. The latter's smile had not disappeared.

“Only one thing, Sebastian”, he whispered before doing the last thing the sniper would have expected.

He tiptoed upwards and grabbed Sebastian by his shirt collar, pulled him towards him and planted his lips on the sniper’s. Sebastian's heart missed another beat - if he continued like that, he would die of a heart attack. He’d be damned if he understood anything about the criminal's motives. But what mattered right then were not his reasons, only the unexpected caress of his lips, which made him forget for a moment the whole pressure of the last hour - the murder he had refused to commit, the anger against Moriarty, the resignation for his own death, the shock after the revelation of deceit, the feeling of betrayal... His doubts and reluctance collapsed. All that mattered was Jim's presence against his chest, the sweetness of his mouth on his own, and the euphoria that was seeping into his veins.

Then suddenly, as abruptly as they had come, his lips disappeared, leaving only a burning memory on Sebastian's own. The sniper opened his eyes as if he was waking from a dream: the world around him was dark and cold, and Jim's warm body was moving away, as if he had never been there.

Moriarty headed for the wooden table, and Sebastian finally noticed the presence of several papers on it. He was certain that they were not there on his first visit.

“Here's your contract. Think carefully before you sign, you won't be able to go back.”

Sebastian joined the young man, while trying to gather his thoughts and give meaning to his situation. In just a second, Jim had transformed himself into the serious and incorruptible businessman he had seen many times when he accompanied him to see Moriarty's clients or to negotiate with other criminals. It seemed as if the last ten seconds had not existed, while for Sebastian they were playing again in a loop, annihilating his cognitive abilities through an overdose of hormones.

Sebastian approached the table and took the papers handed by his... boss? Future boss? Already a boss who was going to become even more his boss? He decided to ignore this aspect of the question completely and began to skim through the document.

“I don't have a choice, anyway. Or do I?”

James was staring at him in a destabilizing way.

“Yes. You have a choice.”

Sebastian looked up at him, intrigued.

“What if I don't sign?”

“You keep your position as sniper, with your salary and the protection the Firm gives you. I can even offer you a... lesser promotion: I need someone to manage all the assassins of the Firm. There will be a salary raise, of course. You get your apartment back. And you never see me again.”

The sniper didn’t hesitate any longer. He took the pen on the table, flipped through the contract to the last page and signed his name at the bottom of the document, under Moriarty's satisfied eyes.

“You’re not even reading it?” he asked nevertheless.

“Whatever's in it,” Sebastian replied, “I'd rather bend to it than not see you again.”

He handed the documents to Jim, who smiled as he took them and put them in a briefcase set on the floor. Then he began to summarize it to his employee.

“The role of the second in command is to accompany me to the most important interviews, transmit my orders, manage the heads of each main division of the network, provide me with valuable information and take care of the rest himself, and since you are already my bodyguard, you can keep that role. As I don't intend to waste your sniping skills, you will also be sent out regularly to the field. All your subordinates owe you obedience and respect as much as they owe me, although my orders take precedence over yours. Nevertheless, try not to shoot them as soon as they start acting like idiots; unfortunately, this happens to them often, and there are a few good elements that I would rather not have to replace. What else... ah, yes, the pay raise, of course, and in public you'll have to call me Sir or Boss. But you already know that.”

Sebastian looked at his employer, looking like he was immersed in intense reflection.

“And... for my apartment?” he finally asked.

Jim gave him a worried look.

“Would you rather have it back?”

“Absolutely not. I was just checking that it was no longer on the agenda.”

He smiles.

“It’s no longer on the agenda.”

Moriarty had disappeared again, to make way for Jim, the nice flatmate with ambiguous morals. An embarrassed silence set in, before Jim declared in a playful tone:

“Are you still up for this date?”

Sebastian gave him a tired look.

“Will I get fired if I say no?”

Jim remained silent.

“I just had a hectic afternoon, you can understand that I want a little rest.”

The young man nodded, in a sign of understanding that wasn’t his style.

“I understand. Let's go home, then.”

Sebastian slowly walked towards the exit, while James took out his cell phone and typed a number.

“You can leave,” he said in the handset. “I’m leaving on my own... Yes, I'm perfectly safe, don't worry about it. Oh, and leave Moran's things outside the building.”

By the time they left the warehouse, the limousine was gone. Sebastian's rifle bag and his revolver were on the ground. The sniper picked them up, threw the bag on his shoulder and put the gun back in its holster, and headed for the main street, Jim on his heels.

As he walked, he observed his new second. Sebastian seemed to have regained the upper hand over his emotions. Not for a second did the idea that he might have gone too far cross Jim's mind. Sebastian walked quickly, his features drawn, but he looked more serene than before. After all, his situation was far from hopeless, as he had so recently believed.

The sniper turned to his companion.

“I have a few more questions... if I may.”

The bitterness was discernible in his voice, although Sebastian made an effort to hide it.

“I'm all ears.”

“Apparently, by deciding not to shoot you, I passed the test. What would have happened if I had made the other choice, if I had decided to obey orders?”

“If I put this test in place, Sebastian, it wasn't to find out if you were worthy of the job or not. I already know you're a loyal man. What I wanted to know was what aspect of your loyalty I could rely on.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“You refused to kill me. Why?”

“You know that very well!” Sebastian replied, looking at Jim with exasperation. “Because I love you! I could never live in a world without you, much less with your blood on my hands... but you don't seem to realize it.”

Jim smiled.

“Of course I do, and that's precisely the reason for this test. If you had decided to shoot, what would your motivation have been?”

Sebastian remained silent for a moment, reflecting on his answer.

“I suppose I would have done it, if I loved you less. If I was more afraid for my life than yours. Out of fear, and out of obedience. It wouldn't be the first time I've abandoned a companion to save my skin...” he added grimly.

“So out of loyalty, out of respect for authority. Is it starting to get clearer?”

_Can I trust you, Sebastian?_

_What makes you think you can trust me?_

_Only one thing, Sebastian._

The last piece of the puzzle was slowly put in place.

“You wanted to see... You wanted to see what was stronger, my obedience or my love? But that’s fucking twisted!”

“I am twisted, Sebby. You’re only getting that now?”

“If I had fired, you'd be dead. I had you right in my sights, all I had to do was pull the trigger!”

“Do you think I didn't take my precautions? The window was reinforced. If you had fired, you would now be the manager of the assassination section, you would have never known who Moriarty was, and you would have never seen James Brook again. But you would still have gotten your promotion.”

“Fucking twisted.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

An awkward silence settled.

“What's your name?”

No answer from the criminal. The man in the masks seemed reluctant to give himself away.

“You still don't trust me enough.”

It was not a question, only a statement. Sebastian wasn’t very surprised, but disappointed. The name didn't really matter much, but it was a symbol. The symbol of a trust that Sebastian had not earned, despite everything his boss could tell him.

“James Moriarty.”

Sebastian looked down at the Irishman.

“Is that your real name?”

“If you mean my birth name, no. But if you mean the name by which I define myself, then yes, it is my real name.”

Sebastian smiled. It wasn't just a symbol, it was really a fragment of Jim's identity. Apparently he trusted him enough to let him know his name.

“Call me Jim anyway.”

“All right.... Boss.”

The sarcasm was perfectly apparent. Jim pouted but didn't bring it up.

“I still have one more question. Why me?”

“Why I chose you for this test?”

“For the test, and even before. It can’t be by chance that you chose my place to live your ‘normal little life’, right?”

“At the time, I was just looking for an employee at the bottom of the pyramid, who would in principle be obedient, not too nosy, and discreet. I was wrong about the first two criteria, but in the end, it balances out: I found a competent, willing, stubborn and above all trustworthy agent. Once I got to know you a little better, there was no better candidate for this position than you. I know you won't betray me.”

“Stubborn?” Sebastian repeated.

“Oooh, come on! If your obsession with my identity is not stubbornness, then nothing is.”

“Why me?” the sniper insisted. “You say you trust me to not betray you. And you found that as the results of your crazy test: I won’t betray you because I'm in love with you, and I'm irrational enough to put my feelings before my own survival. I'm not going to deny that, Jim. I love you too much to try to hurt you... although, right now I want to strangle you as much as I want to kiss you, and that's saying something. You're relying on my feelings without really caring about them. In the end, I wasn't so wrong about Moriarty: you're just a manipulator, you instrumentalise my heart and my feelings. And the worst part is that it's nothing new, and I can't find anything to say about it! I cling onto lies and promises, I accept them, simply because it's you. And I can't even blame you.”

Jim did not answer, and they continued to walk in silence in the falling night. Sebastian took a look at his boss as he ran a hand across his tired face.

“It's your fault you fell in love with a criminal, Sebby. Manipulating people is part of my job. Lying too.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Up to a certain point”, Jim admitted.

“Why?” the sniper insisted. “I can't act in your best interest if I can't separate the truth from the lies; you can't trust me if that trust isn't mutual! How can you rely on my feelings when you completely ignore them?”

Sebastian had raised his voice. He eventually stopped in the middle of the street and turned to the young man. He stared at him for a moment, before announcing in a more composed voice:

“I understand. You're afraid.”

“Oh really? And what am I afraid of, pray tell?” the criminal replied, holding his gaze.

“You're afraid of your feelings. You're not fooling me, Jim, you're scared so you're lying to yourself. You're afraid to put words on what you're feeling.”

Jim shook his head.

“You're wrong. I'm not afraid of my feelings, or of words, or any hogwash like that. I know their value, and I act accordingly. Nothing more.... nothing less.”

Sebastian made a distraught growl.

“If I'm wrong, then explain yourself more clearly! What am I to you? An employee, a flatmate, a friend, a simple pawn in your game of chess with the great and powerful?”

He leaned towards the young man.

“Whatever the answer, it won't change my feelings for you, or the result of your fucking test. But I need to know how you feel. I need a straight answer. Just once. Just today.”

Jim stepped back to look at his sniper. Sebastian really looked desperate. The pressure of the day had been the last straw that broke his back already made heavy by the criminal's constant scheming, and the sniper seemed to be on the verge of drowning.

Jim hadn't been afraid of his feelings for a long time. When he opened his mouth, it was to answer him in a determined tone.

“I'm not in love with you, Sebastian. But I can’t rule out the possibility that it will change over time. And... I'm ready to try with you. If you still want me after everything I've put you through.”

The words slowly made their way through Sebastian's disbelief. It seemed to him that these words could not come out of Jim's mouth, not the Jim he knew.

“You _what_?”

“I have feelings for you that could grow and become love. And it's been too long since I've felt that way about anyone. I don't want to miss this opportunity.”

“Are you saying you want... us to be together?”

Jim was still staring into Sebastian's eyes. The veteran's expression could have illuminated the entire city.

“Yes.”

This confirmation struck his heart like Cupid's arrow, destroying the last bits of Sebastian's reluctance.

Forgetting any restraint, the sniper embraced him and pressed his lips against Jim’s. The young man seemed unsettled at first, then responded fiercely to the kiss. Sebastian's lips were moving against his, in search of a contact they had awaited for too long.

They separated for a fraction of a second after a kiss too short to be satisfying; then they joined again, Sebastian instilling in his movements all the passion and violence contained by months spent waiting. The youngest let his feverish fingers stroke down the sniper's neck before running them between his blond strands and drawing the taller man closer to him. His lips parted slightly; Sebastian did not hesitate, and his greedy tongue plunged into Jim's mouth to meet its twin. Jim immediately responded to his companion's requests, stroking his tongue with the tip of his own without ceasing to move his mouth against the sniper’s.

There was nothing sweet about the kiss, but neither of them would have had it any other way. Sebastian's thoughts were tangled up under the influx of overwhelming sensations, and his mind obscured the world around him, entirely focused on the ballet of their lips and the hands of the criminal who clung to him like a lost soul. Jim was losing his footing, letting his companion guide him. His breath was short and his lungs were burning, but for nothing in the world would he have given up on a single one of those instants. He was only now becoming aware of how much he wanted Sebastian, a desire he had repressed for too long without knowing what he was missing.

He drew away with regret from the embrace of the sniper's lips, and drew the gaze of his black eyes to the ocean blue of his companion. A few tears shone through, and his lips stretched into a radiant smile. Sebastian put his hand on the wall behind Jim to support himself.

“Sebby...” the criminal murmured.

The name was just a sigh.

“I was wrong. I’m in love.”

The sniper's smile widened even more, if that were possible.

“Yeah... I have that effect on people.”

Jim replied with a teasing smile, and freed himself from the veteran's embrace.

“Come, let's go home,” he ordered, grabbing his companion's hand.

Sebastian did not resist and followed the young man to their flat. His mind was drowned in a whirlwind of contradictory feelings, the intense happiness of the last few moments mixing with the anger, resentment and fear that had gripped him so soon before. Jim's hand clutching his own until his knuckles whitened was the only anchor point that allowed him to stay on course, the rock against which his helpless thoughts broke. Jim was there, Jim trusted him, Jim guided him. Jim loved him. Tomorrow, the world could collapse, he might discover that everything had been a dream, or worse, a lie; but all this could wait a few hours.

 


	10. Secret twins don't happen in real life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I’m finally posting a chapter that matters a lot to me, since it introduces some characters that I care for a lot. For once, I’m going to add some notes at the end of the chapter, to avoid giving spoilers. Enjoy!
> 
> As always, many thanks to my beta readers, Finrod and Alexandra.
> 
> Warnings: slight physical violence

 

_Dear Sebastian,_

_How is life in London? Here in Cornwall, everything is going well. I moved to Fal Vale for work; I had thought it was in the middle of nowhere, but in the end it's a nice place, less stressful than the capital. I'm the chief technician now, so I don't go on the rails as often as I used to, and I have a team to manage. It's a lot of work, a lot of responsibility, but it's also much more interesting._

Sebastian smiled as he recalled his brother's reluctance a few months before, when he had had to move to Cornwall: his e-mail was just a long complaint about the desolated landscape and the lack of social life. Now Severin seemed to have changed his mind.

_I met a boy there (well, I say a boy... we're almost the same age). His name is Richard, he's a train driver. He was the one who welcomed me and showed me around when I arrived. He is part of a theatre group in his spare time, he also plays in London from time to time._

_He is adorable, kind, considerate... I love him.  And guess what? He asked me out! We've been together for a month now, and it's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. I hope you can come over soon, I'd love for you to meet him. In the meantime, I'm sending you some pictures of us._

While Sebastian had been happy to receive news from his brother, his good mood was quickly killed when he opened the documents. The photos all depicted Richard, and Severin was also in some of them. The driver's uniform and cap were not a good enough disguise for Sebastian not to recognize the face of the young man who had been haunting his life for over a year. He quickly reviewed the images, all showing the same black hair, the same dark and impenetrable eyes, the same happy smile, which Sebastian had long believed was reserved for him.

_It must be a joke..._ he thought as anger began to invade his mind. The last picture was like a cold shower that drowned his last hopes.

Severin and Jim - or Richard, whatever his real name was - were sitting on a bench in front of a lake, in the light of the setting sun, kissing passionately.

Sebastian remained frozen for a moment, his eyes fixed on the heresy facing him. Finally, he slammed his computer screen down with an angry gesture and put his head in his hands. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn't help but see that image again. He felt like it was burning his retina, while his heart was tightening mercilessly in his chest. He couldn't believe that Jim had lied to him so much. Cheating on his identity was something that didn't have any consequences - he had done it himself. Using him as a cover was embarrassing, but he had forgiven him a long time ago. Leading him on and playing with his feelings was cruel, but he had gotten used to it - and even appreciated the pain, strangely enough. But this time, Jim had reached the point of no return. Sebastian may be tolerant, but cheating on him with his own brother was not something he could handle.

He got up and grabbed his phone, then started pacing around the room while he typed a short text message to his boyfriend.

“ _Where are you?”_

The answer came quickly.

“ _On the move. I'll tell you where when I get there_.”

The sniper violently threw the device on his bed before sitting down again with a sigh of resignation. Then he reopened his computer, tried to ignore the picture while he closed it, and began frantically typing a reply to his brother.

oOoOoOo

Richard Brook was on his way to the station when he received a text from his boyfriend. Slightly surprised, he opened the message: it was not Severin's habit to write to him so early.

His boyfriend was simply asking him to meet him near the back door of the station. The place was always empty, Severin probably wanted to talk to him alone. The young man had no idea what it was about, but nevertheless replied that he would be at the meeting point.

When he arrived, the place was deserted. Richard leaned against the wall and took off his headphones, then just stared at the sky and let his thoughts wander.

Severin arrived a few minutes later. Richard smiled at him and shouted a cheerful "Hi!”, but he quickly realized from the blond’s expression that something was wrong. He didn't have to ask, because he came up to him and immediately asked:

“Richard. How long have you known my brother?”

Richard frowned, perplexed. He and Severin had almost never talked about their respective families.

“Your brother? You barely ever mentioned him, I don’t know him.”

“Of course you do.”

Severin's tone remained calm, but Richard knew him too well to be fooled. The young man was boiling with a dull anger, that he didn’t know the origin of. Despite his concern, Richard preferred to remain cautious.

“I don't understand what you mean”, he replied.

“My brother Sebastian. How long has this been going on? Were you already dating him before we got together?”

Dating Sebastian? Try as he might, Richard couldn't put the pieces of the puzzle back together. He had only been with the blond for a month, after having been alone for a long time. Then why did the young man think he was seeing someone else?

Severin had taken a step forward, and only a few inches separated them, while Richard was pressed against the wall. Severin was taller and stronger than him, and in that moment the young man had very little trust in his boyfriend's self-control.

“It must be a misunderstanding, Severin”, he replied, struggling to control the tremors in his voice. “I swear to you, I don't know your brother!”

Severin put his hand against the wall near the brown boy's head and leaned down towards him. Richard was doing his best to try to merge with the bricks. He couldn’t understand what his companion had against him; and not knowing the reason for the anger of the man he loved frightened him more than the atmosphere of imminent threat, which was no small feat.

“Stop it”, Severin scolded. “I won’t take another one of your lies.... Jim.”

Richard's answer remained stuck in his throat.

“J... Jim?” he stuttered, stunned.

Finally the puzzle was put in place.

James. It was James who was responsible. Somehow, Severin had heard of his brother - probably through Sebastian - and had confused him with Richard. People often made that mistake until they saw the twins together, and Richard hoped from the bottom of his heart that Severin would never get to meet him.

And if he called him a liar like that, it was because Sebastian had not spoken to him in very positive terms about the criminal.

“Sebastian warned me”, the blond continued. “You should have known we'd find out sooner or later.”

...And Sebastian was dating Jim. It was the only possible explanation.

Richard put his face in his hands. He could not believe that his brother had found a new way to tear apart his happiness and privacy, while he was doing everything to stay away from him. Severin had no idea of the complexity of the relationships in which he had entangled himself. And Richard couldn’t see how to get out of this mess.

“Severin... I don't know Sebastian, I swear.”

He looked up at Severin. The tall blond was looking at him harshly.

“And I'm not Jim!”

“If you're not Jim, then who is he?”

The criminal had been very clear on this point: no one could know they were related. He himself did not really want to shout out to the world that he was the brother of a murderer.

“I can't tell you about him...” Richard said in a hushed voice.

Severin backed away and looked him down sadly.

“You’d better forget about me, then. It's me, or my brother; but there's no way I'm staying in a relationship with a liar.”

And there was the end of the dead-end. Richard's heart tightened even more, if that were possible. Telling Severin about Jim put him in danger. But keeping silent meant that Severin would leave him, and Richard could not bring himself to let that happen.

“I am not a liar.”

Suddenly a faint glimmer of hope appeared in the young man's panicked mind. If Sebastian and Jim were together... maybe Jim would agree to let someone in on their secret? Sebastian was apparently no more aware than Severin of the twins’ existence, and Jim would soon be faced with the same problem as Richard.

“Look, I'll tell you everything”, said Richard in a shaking voice. “I'll tell you about Jim... but not now. It's too long to explain, and we have things to do.”

Severin hesitated for a moment, staring harshly at his companion, before answering:

“All right. I’ll see you at lunch break. I sincerely hope you will have a good explanation to give me by then.”

Then he turned around and walked away. It was only when he was out of Richard's sight that he added, in a whisper:

“...because I don't want to have to give up on you.”

 

oOoOoOo

 

Sebastian had rushed to Baynes Street as soon as Jim told him he was there. The sniper had been careful not to warn his boyfriend of the earful he was going to give him; he knew the criminal too well, and he would certainly make up a passable excuse for himself by the time he arrived.

“James fucking Moriarty!” he exclaimed as he opened his office door on the fly. “This time it's too much!”

“You’re late, my love”, the other replied with a mocking smile. “What have I done this time?”

“This.”

He threw on the desk copies of the photos Severin had sent him, then crossed his arms and stared at his future ex-boyfriend with a furious look, while the latter reached out for the documents.

Jim went through all the pictures, with a faint smile on his face; then he looked up at the fulminating sniper, then back to the pictures, and burst out laughing.

This was too much for Sebastian, who walked up to the criminal and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket - holding back with great difficulty from grabbing him by the throat - at the same time kicking his wheeled chair back a few centimetres.

“You think it’s funny, you son of a bitch? How long has it been going on? Did you think maybe we weren't going to find out?”

It took Jim a few seconds to control his hilarity, and finally answer Sebastian:

“Sebby.... Take a closer look. It's not me in these pictures...”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I'm much sexier.”

“You'll be much less sexy once I turn your face into cat food!”

He dropped Jim and put a picture under his nose.

“Richard Brook. Thirty-one years old, plays in theater, and looks just like you. And you dare to claim that it's not you.”

Jim fell back into his chair, looking very smug.

“He's my twin brother.”

Sebastian stopped for a moment and stared at his boyfriend in an unbelieving way.

“Of course! A secret twin!”

Jim simply raised his eyebrows, as if to challenge Seb to contradict him. He was not buying the news at all.

“And why did you never tell me about him, huh?”

Jim ran a tired hand across his face, before looking up at the sniper.

“Because the purpose of a secret twin, Moran, is precisely to be a secret. Do you ever think before you speak? Richard lives in Cornwall, and so does your brother. You think I go back and forth between London and Fal Vale every day, drive trains while I run the Firm, all just to cheat on you with your brother? It would be a lot of work for not much.”

Sebastian shrugged.

“A lot of work for not much, says the man who has been maintaining a false identity for over a year just to...”

He frowned his brow, uncertain.

“To what, by the way?”

“You'll know soon enough. But that's not the point.”

“... I suppose you're right. And so, you're telling me you have a twin brother... whose identity you’re stealing... who's a train driver... and who's dating my brother. I'm not a statistician, but I do see a small problem. Don't you?”

“Well... I may have directed Severin's transfer to Fal Vale, just to have a man I could trust near Richard.”

“Wait... what!?” Sebastian choked again. “Severin's watching Richard for you?”

Jim smiled.

“No. He really works for the railway company, and he's never heard of me. But it doesn't hurt to have someone I could contact if necessary and convince them to take action in case of danger. Richard hates when I assign him bodyguards, I had to find another method.”

“Let me guess. You were going to use the ‘I have your brother hostage’ argument to convince him to protect Richard?”

Jim waved Sebastian's comment away.

“It would have been more subtle than that. Anyway, I won't need that anymore, it seems.”

Sebastian sighed. As always, the criminal had twisted and brilliant ideas, but had no understanding of human nature...

“And I suppose it didn't occur to you to warn me about the situation? You must have known they were dating, and you should have guessed I'd find out eventually.”

“Of course, I knew that. I just didn't expect you to trust me so little and jump to conclusions so quickly.”

“He's your twin brother, Jim!” the sniper shouted, exasperated. “He’s your spitting image and you regularly steal his identity, and then you wonder why I confuse the two of you? And as for trust, it wouldn't be the first time you've told me complete bullshit. You know I love you, and I'd do anything for you, but trust? Try again.”

An awkward silence set in. Jim knew he was at fault, //but he would rather have died than admitted it. Fortunately, his boyfriend knew him and didn't hold it against him.

“You should call Severin and explain the situation to him,” he said eventually. “If all Morans are the same, Richard might end up with a hurricane to deal with. And he's far from having my confidence in this kind of situation.”

“Wait, you care about Richard, now?” Sebastian mocked.

“He’s my brother, mind you. He may be my twin, but we are very different. Whether he likes it or not, I have to look after him.”

“Well... you found him a boyfriend, I guess he can at least be grateful for that.”

oOoOoOo

After he finally drove the last train of the day to the hangar, Richard felt like he had spent the longest day of his life. He had tried to contact Jim, unsuccessfully, and explaining the situation to Severin without any support other than his own word had been difficult. His boyfriend had finally come to his senses, but Richard had noticed that he was still on the fence. It would take time to fully regain his trust.

He sighed as he remembered that his day was far from over. When he left Severin to return to work, he had taken a decision, and he intended to stick to it. He had searched the blond’s phone to find Sebastian's number - given the questionable opinion his boyfriend already had of him, he might as well do it. He didn't know the eldest of the Morans and had only a vague idea of the kind of relationship he might have with Jim, but Richard felt it was his duty to warn him against the criminal. If Sebastian was indeed in love with Moriarty, it would probably be impossible to change his mind, but at least he would have tried.

He settled in a park not far from the station where he worked to make the call. The place was almost empty at this time of day, so he was sure not to be disturbed.

The phone didn't ring for long, and the man on the other end of the phone answered almost immediately.

“Sebastian Moran?” the young man asked.

“ _Jim?_ ” said the sniper's voice after a brief hesitation.

“I'm not Jim, but it's a common mistake. Look, I don't have much time.”

“ _You must be Richard!_ ” the other exclaimed, suddenly friendlier. “ _Jim told me about you, eventually_.”

Richard frowned. Bad news for him.

“Whatever he told you about me, don't believe him. He lies as he breathes, and you're no exception. You think you're special... but he's just manipulating you.”

oOoOoOo

 

Sitting on the sofa in his apartment, Sebastian could not help but smile at Richard's words. Jim, sitting next to him, urged him to put the speaker on, in vain.

The voice in the handset rose again:

“ _I know it's hard to hear..._ ”

“Richard”, Sebastian cut him off. “I know Jim better than you can imagine. And he knows better than to manipulate me. I trust him, to a certain extent.”

“ _You shouldn't._ ”

The sniper turned to his boyfriend:

“Should I trust you, Jim?”

“...to a certain extent,” the criminal admitted with a smirk.

oOoOoOo

 

Richard was taken off guard by hearing his brother's voice.

“He’s here?” he said. “Oh no...”

“ _Are you worried for my sniper, Richie?_ ” Jim continued. “ _How sweet of you. Tell Severin that Sebastian will be fine._ ”

The criminal's voice became more insidious, as Richard tensed up.

“ _Because that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? That your boyfriend will hold you responsible if anything happened to his brother?_ ”

“No,” Richard answered firmly. “It's just that I have empathy, unlike you. Sebastian is part of my family now, and I would hold you responsible if anything happened to him.”

The silence settled for a few moments, before Jim spoke again.

“ _I love him. Does that seem like enough of a guarantee to you?_ ”

Richard hesitated. He knew his brother well enough to know that loving someone was no guarantee of his safety; but he also knew him well enough to know that he would get nothing more.

“It will have to do.”

“Is that your brother?”

Richard jumped when he heard the voice behind him.

“How long have you been there?” he asked, turning to face Severin.

“Hand me the phone”, the blond just answered while sitting down on the bench next to him.

Richard did not argue and handed him the device.

“Mr. Moriarty? “

“ _I plead guilty._ ”

“Richard explained the situation to me”, announced the youngest of the Morans. “Let me be very clear. I don't care that you're a criminal. I don't care that you’re dating with my brother.”

Richard gave him an alarmed look. Talking to Moriarty in this tone was a very, very bad idea for his survival.

“But I warn you: if you touch one hair on Richard's head, if you hurt him in any way...”

He paused for a moment and met his boyfriend's gaze.

“Well, I think you already know what a Moran looks like when he's angry.”

oOoOoOo

 

Back in their London apartment, Sebastian could not hold back a small burst of laughter when he saw Jim’s face. The latter took a look at the blond, before smiling as well.

“Yes, I know that, but thank you for the reminder. Besides, perhaps I should remind you that Richie is my brother. It wouldn't be in my interest to hurt him.”

“ _The way he talks about you, I don't think we have the same definition of ‘hurting’._ ”

“I don't...”

He stopped when he felt Sebastian's hand on his shoulder.

“Jim!” the blond called in a menacing voice.

The criminal sighed.

“Alright. I won’t lay a hand on Richard, you have my word... and Sebastian's surveillance. I already have enough of one angry tiger at home.”

Only a persistent beep replied. Jim smiled and gave Sebastian his phone back.

“You should be proud of your brother. He has more in his pants than most cis men.”

Sebastian smiled back at him.

“I am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with a few precisions. Firstly, the town where Richard and Severin live (Fal Vale) is fictional, and comes from the novel The Hound of the D’Urbervilles by Kim Newman, a book about Moriarty and Moran that I like very much and highly recommend. That novel as well as a comment made by Jim in The Final Problem are the reasons that made me choose this job for Richard. Secondly, I’d like to thank my friend and beta Finrod for suggesting that Severin could be trans, as well as Arsène for helping me include this detail in the story. Thirdly (and lastly), I am working on another fanfic centred around Richard and Severin. It should be finished by the end of April / mid-May (but I might only publish it after this one is over, I’ll see).  
> And while I’m here, don’t forget to leave a review, it’s always nice to read them and it helps me get better at writing!


	11. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No author’s notes this time, I don’t have much to say about this chapter. Except maybe one thing: enjoy the break, because from now on it’s gonna be feels festival.
> 
> Warnings: I’m letting you take a break for once.

 

Until he arrived home, Sebastian was considering his day a good one. A mission carried out quickly, a target eliminated with a minimum of collateral damage, and his work completed early. And Jim wasn't working and had planned to stay home for the day, which greatly limited his risks of getting killed.

He noticed that something was wrong when he arrived in front of his building. A removal van was parked in the street, wide open, with a man standing in front to watch it. Sebastian assumed that one of the neighbours was moving - which was strange, as the various tenants in the building were usually informed in advance of the changes.

As he walked up the stairs to his apartment, he had to stand against the wall to let two movers who were carrying a coffee table... his coffee table! Astonished, the young man chased after them towards the ground floor and hailed them:

“Hey! What the hell are you doing? That's my table!”

One of the two men turned to him.

“We're just moving the furniture, sir, as we were asked. You should talk to your roommate about it.”

What the hell had Jim done now? As his anger grew, Sebastian turned to the landing, before climbing the steps four by four.

When he entered the apartment, Jim was lying on the couch, his legs crossed, staring emptily at the living room window. The television, the coffee table and a carpet had already disappeared.

Jim turned to Sebastian when he heard him come in.

“What does this mean?” the sniper exclaimed, pointing to the half-empty room with a wide arm gesture.

“You can read, can't you?” his boyfriend replied in an annoyed tone. “It’s written on the truck.”

“Moving, yes, I understood that! But why? You could have told me about it! Are you aware that I paid for this furniture?”

The little Irishman sighed, then got up off the couch.

“Richard Brook is going to the United States for a while. I don't need this cover right now, and I'm not going to stay in this rat hole you call your home all my life. “

“You're going to the United States?” Sebastian choked.

“Sebastian, I'm no more Richard Brook than you are a supermarket security guard. No, I'm going back to my old apartment. There's not enough room for two here.”

Jim leaned against the window ledge, turning his back to the street.

Sebastian remained silent as he began to fully grasp the situation. Jim had decided to leave, and it was understandable - he should have known a long time ago. He had been wrong to believe that he had any chance with the criminal. It was only by chance that Moriarty had chosen him as his companion for his alter ego, there was no reason for the young man to find him worthy enough of interest to remain at his side.

Jim must have noticed the sniper's expression, because he asked him with a worried look:

“Are you all right?”

“What do you think?” Sebastian grunted back.

“Maybe I should have told you beforehand”, admitted the little man after a hesitation. “I wanted to surprise you, I thought you'd be happy.”

“Happy? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how it feels to see you leave?”

Jim gave him an intrigued look, before his face broke down under an air of extreme fatigue.

“Oh no. You didn't understand, did you? Do you know how stupid you are sometimes? Why do you think I'm taking your furniture away?”

“Probably because you...”

He stopped and looked at Jim with wide eyes.

“Oh. OH!”

“Did you seriously think I was leaving you?” the little Irishman asked with a smile.

“It seemed more credible to me than inviting me to your place.”

“We've been living together for almost two years, Sebby. I'd have a hard time living by myself now.”

Sebastian smiled. He knew it was Jim's way of saying ‘I love you’. The criminal had difficulty expressing his feelings - probably the after-effects of years of wearing these masks, in the sniper’s opinion. But these feelings did exist, Sebastian knew it.

“I should probably pack my things,” he announced before making his way to his room.

“Already done,” Jim shouted from the living room. “Everything you own is in the truck. The rest of the furniture belongs to the landlady, we'll have to leave it here.”

He took a look at his watch.

“Our car should be here. Are you coming?”

Sebastian approached his boyfriend, and the latter stood on tiptoes to kiss him.

“I'm not going to let you go anytime soon, Tiger”, he murmured as they were leaving the apartment.

oOoOoOo

It took them almost a half hour's drive through London to reach a large modern building in Conduit Street, Mayfair. The moving van was already parked on the street. The two men got out of the car and Jim waved the taxi off, which disappeared at the end of the street. The young man approached the high wooden doors of the building and typed a rather long code on the keyboard. A click resounded, and he opened the door, letting the sniper - who was carrying the bags for both of them - in.

The interior was quite luxurious but discreet. The hall looked like a hotel lobby, with sofas, a red carpet and a counter behind which a man was sitting. Jim nodded at him, and the man did not question Sebastian's presence - either Jim had already notified the concierge of the arrival of a new inhabitant, or the locals simply did not ask questions.

“You live in a palace...” Sebastian, appreciative, looked up at the ceiling from which lights were hanging.

“I don't live in the lobby, thank God,” Jim replied with his usual sarcasm.

The sniper headed for the stairs at the back of the hall, but his boyfriend grabbed him by the sleeve to pull him towards the elevator.

“It's on the top floor, don't bother.”

“You're just worried I'll get there before you,” the blond replied with malice. Jim gave an exasperated pout in response.

They eventually stepped out of the elevator to arrive in front of a large bay window overlooking the rooftops of the city. A few other towers stood in the vicinity, and the London Eye faced them in the distance. All this, illuminated by the iridescent light of the setting sun diffused through London's smog, gave a vision of king of the world.

Sebastian stopped, dumbstruck.

“I can see all of London from here!”

“Glad you like it,” Jim replied with a smile. “But it's only part of London. You can truly see the whole city from the apartment.”

The blond turned to Jim, who was holding the front door open for him.

 “Welcome home, Tiger.”

The sniper stopped to kiss the criminal, before walking through the door.

The apartment was a duplex. The first floor was occupied by a large living room with a modern but warm decoration. The kitchen, worthy of a restaurant, was separated by a wooden counter from the living-dining room, in which stood a large table of polished wood. A sofa and several armchairs were arranged in a square around a glass coffee table that the movers were still installing, in front of a giant screen television. Speakers were standing on either side, next to an impressive collection of CDs - which Sebastian guessed were mostly disco. A piano was facing one of the walls, and a new bay window, overlooking a balcony, lit up the room. The decoration was sober but reflected Jim's eccentric tastes quite well, with paintings and posters hanging on the walls (Sebastian recognized with amusement a poster of RuPaul's Drag Race), trinkets and gadgets arranged on a few shelves, and several plants. A few men were busy installing the pieces of furniture from their old apartment, but it was mostly already furnished and did not seem to need any new additions.

“How long have you not lived here?” asked Sebastian.

“Two years now. But I come back regularly to work, and I have someone who makes sure it doesn't turn into a hotel for spiders. Come with me, I'll show you around.”

On the ground floor was a large workroom with a library, a pantry with a door to the kitchen, and a small bathroom. The second floor consisted of Jim's office, with a large dual-screen computer, and a huge bedroom with dressing room and bathroom.

“There is only one bed”, Jim pointed out, standing in the doorway while Sebastian was looking around with wide eyes. “I would have asked you if you didn't mind, but you don't really have a choice. I mean, if you don't like it, there's always the couch.”

“I’ve gotten used to you inviting yourself into my bed, now it's my turn to squat, I guess.”

Jim answered only with a stifled laugh, before walking out of the room, Sebastian on his heels.

He stood in the middle of the living room and turned towards Sebastian.

“That's it. Make yourself comfortable, make yourself at home... Well, except for smoking. Smoking is banned here.”

The sniper approached him, looking worried.

“Are you all right?”

The little Irishman frowned.

“Me? Of course.”

“You look nervous.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Since the cab, you look agitated, you spend your time licking your lips, playing with your fingernails... You can’t fool me.”

Jim sighed. The ease with which Sebastian could now read through his masks surprised him.  It hadn’t taken long for the blond to learn how to decipher the walking riddle that was his roommate. Jim had unintentionally let him walk past his barriers, and get closer to the things that constituted his weaknesses. But on the other hand, maybe it was for the best. There was something good about having someone who understood him even when he was trying to hide his emotions.

“I should be the nervous one, silly,” Sebastian said gently as he hugged him. “England's greatest criminal invites me into his house, shows me around and tells me to make myself at home. Not to mention the fact that the said criminal is also my employer and my boyfriend. I'm still wondering how I got here, and where I find this situation in the handbook... and you're the one who's nervous?”

Jim frowned.

“Stop making fun of me. I just hope you like it,” he added after a moment's hesitation.

“It's perfect. And it's all the more perfect because I'm with you.”

Jim looked up at him, repressing a large smile, and put his hands behind the sniper's neck to draw him to his lips. Sebastian let himself be guided, responding with a shiver to each of his lover's requests. The young man seemed to need reassurance, and Sebastian could only try to resolve the doubts that persisted in Jim's heart.

“I love you,” the youngest whispered in a barely perceptible breath.

“I noticed.”

Falsely upset, Jim playfully punched the sniper in the stomach.

“At least,” continued the blond, “I didn't have to go through one of your dramatic tests before getting this promotion.”

“Do you see this as another promotion?”

Sebastian pretended to think.

“Actually, no. We're still flatmates, technically.”

“I own this place, moron!”

“Demotion, then. I went from being a tenant to being a squatter.”

“I hate you.”

“You're a real weather vane!”

Jim stopped answering, knowing that Sebastian would always manage to have the last word. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked away from the sniper's arms to get downstairs to the suitcases in the middle of the living room.

“Stop admiring the view and make yourself a little useful,” he said to the blond. “I'm not the one who's going to take all this stuff upstairs!”

“I'm your bodyguard, not your sherpa, Jim”, replied Sebastian, but he set about the task.

“You wanted a promotion, there it is. Besides, it's your stuff, not mine.”

“Says the one who wears my dog tags and sweaters when I'm away... Not that it bothers me, I actually think it's pretty cute.”

Jim stubbornly turned to the window, avoiding Sebastian's gaze. There was no way the sniper could see him blush. Sebastian, not fooled, just smiled widely, before taking their suitcases upstairs. The cohabitation with Moriarty promised to be more eventful than with Brook... and for nothing in the world would he go back.

 


	12. Tiger hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! Today I have a few precisions to make before we get to the chapter. It starts with a bit of violence, and smut (light, but not very consensual). It will talk about war, post-traumatic stress disorder, and torture. Not in a graphic or gore way, but I prefer to warn you beforehand, in case it’s problematic for some people. I also want to insist on the fact that I do not condone Moriarty’s behavior, he is in no way an example to follow. Don’t do this at home, kids!
> 
> I also included a little nod to a RP blog I like very much; hats off if you can recognize that reference. 
> 
> As usual, thank you to my beta Finrod for proof-reading the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy the story, and don’t forget to leave a review!
> 
> Warnings: ligh smut (light), BDSM, non-consensual relationship, physical violence, loss of consciousness, PTSD, war, scars, physical torture (mentioned)

 

When he was in the army, Sebastian used to live on fixed schedules - drastic, but always the same. Even during the fighting, both sides seemed to respect a semblance of agreement about the times when they slaughtered each other. When he started working as a sniper in the underworld, Sebastian did not take into account the fact that criminals never slept, and that his own victims did not all follow the same schedule. He therefore regularly had to spend hours on a roof waiting for a target, or even sleepless nights to watch over a firm client or accompany an agent. When he returned home at five o'clock that afternoon - correction: to Jim Moriarty’s home, who graciously accepted to welcome him to his apartment on the pretext that he was his boyfriend – so when he returned to Jim’s after a day that had started at two in the morning, the sniper decided to send bedtime conventions and waking hours to hell, and just tidied up his things before unceremoniously dropping onto his bed- correction: Jim's bed... Jim himself was busy for the day and wasn’t supposed to return until the evening, which left Sebastian several hours of rest before his turbulent boyfriend came home.

These few hours seemed only a few minutes when he finally woke up, struggling to tear himself away from Morpheus' arms, who seemed to want to keep him forever in his embrace. He quickly identified what had awakened him: the touch of fingers caressing his chest, soft but insisting. Sebastian was convinced that he had gone to bed fully clothed. He stood up on his elbows to look at Jim, who had woken him up without worrying about the fact that he had not slept for fifteen hours - or rather tried to get up and was stopped suddenly by a sharp pain in his wrists, accompanied by a suspicious ringing.

His instinct for survival immediately took over to wake him up from his slumber, and he analysed his situation in a flash: still lying on the bed, bare-chested, handcuffed.

Handcuffed!

The instinct gave way to panic when Sebastian realized that he was tied to the bed, with his wrists crossed over his head. How had he ended up in this situation?

“Finally awake, Bastian?” Jim's voice came from near him.

The young man was sitting on the bed next to the sniper and had stopped his stroking when Sebastian had tried to get up. In a fluid movement, he moved to sit on the sniper's legs, blocking his movements even more.

“I thought you'd never open your eyes...”

“What the hell is this?” Sebastian replied abruptly without paying attention to the small talk.

“Oh, don't make yourself any dumber than you are, Tiger”, Jim mocked as he trailed his fingers across his boyfriend's chest. “You know very well what I'm doing.”

Jim's hands were gradually reaching lower and lower, and his intentions were crystal clear to Sebastian. This was not the first time Jim had taken initiatives without asking his boyfriend for his opinion, and Sebastian usually found nothing wrong with that. But not this time.

“Why the fuck am I tied up?”

Sebastian tried to pull on the handcuffs, as if to support his question, with no other result than making noise and chafing his skin even more.

The little Irishman smiled - a smile that was far from reassuring, but his rarely were.

“I want... to experiment today. Don't tell me you're too tired!”

The criminal's mocking voice only accentuated the sniper's unease. The handcuffs didn’t hinder his movements very much, but it was mainly the idea of being tied up that repelled him. He tried unsuccessfully to slip his hands out of the metal rings, but they were too tight. It only led to tearing off his skin again, and sinking even deeper into anxiety. The last time he had been tied like that... No! Sebastian tried to push away the morbid thoughts that were invading his mind and pulled harder on the handcuffs. He didn't want to go back there!

The sharp pain in his wrists was taking up all his attention, bringing a welcome but ineffective distraction; as did the portions of skin in contact with Jim's burning fingers, which were becoming more and more enterprising. Sebastian's brain was threatening to close shop under the flood of conflicting signals.

“Untie me!” he grunted at Jim.

The latter lifted his head and stopped his activities, to get closer to the sniper's face.

“No.”

“If you don't untie me, I...” started Sebastian, utterly frustrated by the monosyllabic response, before being cut off.

“If you don't stop this right now, Tiger, I might get very mean”, Jim whispered in a low voice, pressing an oppressive hand against the sniper's chest. “And believe me, you don't want that to happen.”

A red mist began to invade Sebastian's mind, who now wouldn’t stop shaking the handcuffs, in vain hope of opening them, or breaking whatever they were attached to. A small portion of his mind, largely overwhelmed by survival instinct and panic, was still trying to remind him that he was in his room, with Jim, not in a sordid basement in Bengal; but his adrenalin-filled brain would not listen. The identity of his torturer did not matter, and the once cherished presence of his lover was now mixed with much less pleasant memories.

“Jim”! he shouted again, his voice less firm than he would have liked.

Jim didn't want to hear anything either. Storming obviously had no effect, and neither did brute force - the handcuffs were stronger than him. He would have to get out of this situation by trickery.

“Jim”, he called in a softer voice - at least he hoped so.

The criminal looked up, clearly exasperated.

“I said: no.”

“Jim... please.”

Begging was not in Sebastian's habit, and Jim must have realized that something was wrong, because he moved up to Sebastian’s face and stared him in the eyes silently for a few moments, taking advantage of his immobility to stroke his chin and lips, thoughtful. Sebastian was holding his breath.

“Alright. I untie you,” Jim eventually accepted with a slight smile, “on one condition. From now on, you do exactly what I tell you to do. Understood?”

“Of course!” replied Sebastian, with a little too much haste.

Jim should have noticed it, but he just unlocked the handcuffs. It only took the sniper a handful of seconds to free himself, and he violently sat up before tackling the frail little Irishman to the bed.

“Seb...” Jim could only stutter, his eyes wide open, before the sniper put one hand on his mouth and nose and squeezed the other around his neck. Jim tried to struggle, but Sebastian's strength, already greater than his in normal times, was increased tenfold by the adrenaline. The last thing he saw before he went into a coma was his lover’s face distorted by rage, and a bestial gleam in his eyes.

Once Jim had stopped moving, Sebastian stood still for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity to him. He took a deep breath - he felt like he hadn't breathed for hours - and rubbed his wrists. His skin was red and slashed, but he paid little attention to the pain. As he took another look at Jim's unconscious body on the bed, the small still functional part of his brain whispered that he’d better get out of here very quickly. So, he got up, buttoned up his shirt and pants, which Jim hadn’t had time to take off, and rushed out of the apartment, without even bothering to lock the door behind him. He had to put as much distance as possible between him and this place as fast as possible.

oOoOoOo

 

When Jim regained consciousness a few minutes later, it took him several seconds to understand what had happened.

“Sebastian!” he shouted as he sat up abruptly, before being caught in a violent fit of coughing.

He looked around him: no one. The sheets were undone, the handcuffs abandoned on the floor, where they had fallen when Sebastian had gotten up. The sniper, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight. Jim stood on hesitant legs, rubbing his throat with a grimace of pain. His boyfriend had not gone halfway. Where the hell could he have gone? He called his name again, to no avail.

The memories gradually returned to Jim's sore mind. What he had seen in Sebastian's eyes was far from his usual spark; it was now clear, but far too late, that the young man had not been in his normal state. Jim hadn't paid attention to his shouts, it was part of the game; but Sebastian hadn’t been playing.

The criminal cursed inwardly. He should have realized much earlier that there was something wrong. Now that he thought about it, Sebastian's reactions were obvious; but it was too late. He walked out of the room still calling his boyfriend's name, but a quick tour of the apartment taught him that he was alone. The sniper must have left the place while he was unconscious, taking only a coat with him - all his belongings were where they’d been left. Jim picked up his cell phone from the bottom of a pocket and dialled the sniper's number. This fool had better answer, otherwise...

Somewhere in the apartment, the melody of Katy Perry's _Roar_ began to play. Jim had always thought this song was stupid, but he had never hated it as much as he did now. He hung up, and violently threw his phone on the couch in a fit of rage.

Jim suddenly realized he was panicking. He tried to blame his feelings on his suffocation, but it was obvious: Sebastian's disappearance affected him much more than it should have. He had hurt him, without realizing it, and the weight of responsibility suddenly overwhelmed him. Yet Jim was not a man who cared about other people's states of mind. Sebastian had made him change, and he wasn’t sure he appreciated the change. Especially at a time when his usual confidence was deserting him. Why had Seb suddenly become so violent? Why had he left in such a hurry? Was he even coming back?

No way to contact the sniper to order him to return. He couldn't track him either, not without his phone. But he had to find him. Jim knew his boyfriend, and in the state he was probably in, Sebastian wasn't thinking, and he might do things he would regret later. He fished his phone out of the cushions and dialled a number, before pacing through the living room.

“Dekker!” he exclaimed without preamble when his correspondent picked up the phone. “Find Moran. He is somewhere in town... probably,” he added after thinking. “I want you to locate him as fast as possible. Search all the bars, all the weird clubs, IMMEDIATELY!”

“Yes, sir”, said a muffled voice at the other end of the handset. “But... it's night-time, sir.”

“So what? Hurry up, if you want to see the sunlight in the morning!”

“All right. Should we have him shot, sir, or should we bring him back to you alive?”

Moriarty nearly choked again, before realizing that his order usually involved the death of the target.

“No! You keep an eye on him, and you let me know immediately as soon as you have any information.”

He hung up without giving the man time to answer. He was in theory no longer on duty, but his men were used to working sporadic hours, and Dekker was an ace when it came to tracking someone. No way he was waiting until the next morning. His network may have been limited, but Dekker would do everything possible to follow his orders, Jim was sure of that.

oOoOoOo

London at midnight was silent and gloomy. The sounds of the city - vehicles in the distance, roaring pipes... - still resonated, but apart from the occasional tramp or alcoholic, the fog-filled streets seemed dead. This suited Sebastian Moran very well: the fewer people he met, the better. The fresh night air had taken him a while to bring him to his senses, and he had walked (after having run) for a long time in the city, trying to escape from the demons that were bringing images of horror, pain and fear to his mind. After traversing half of London, he had finally regained his senses, and was now wandering through the empty city, his mind bubbling with thoughts.

He had left Jim's apartment in a hurry, taking nothing with him but a coat to avoid dying of hypothermia. He had no idea how Jim was right now, but one thing was for sure: going home was the worst of options. Especially after he had strangled his boss. He knew Moriarty very personally, and he knew well enough that all the rumours about the people who had betrayed him were true. Sebastian may have enjoyed an enviable position with him, but it was unlikely that he would get out of this without damage. All he could do for now was hide and hope that Jim's anger would fade a little, to not face his future ex-boyfriend in the heat of the moment. For a moment he had envisioned the idea of running away from London or even abroad; but he didn’t know the full extent of Moriarty's network outside the city, and it was likely that he would only make his case worse without succeeding in putting himself out of danger.

What had he hoped for when he attacked Jim like that? He should have thought further than his post-traumatic stress disorder, fought against the panic that clouded his mind, understood that the situation had nothing to do with his memories... Sebastian almost had to refrain from slapping himself in the face. A few ties, and he had completely lost control of his thoughts. If only he had had the courage to talk to Jim about his past and the war, this probably wouldn't have happened. But he had wanted to avoid going back to the past at all costs. Now he hated himself for his own weakness.

He was living in a precarious balance - no man could have ever hoped to be that close to a person as dangerous and versatile as James Moriarty, let alone a simple henchman like Moran. He didn’t know exactly how the criminal felt about him, or even if they were feelings: it was perfectly possible, given the man’s background, that he was simply playing a role to take advantage of Sebastian. The blond suspected it - and didn't care: if it was the only way to be with the man he loved, that was enough for him. But he knew that their relationship, whatever its real nature, would not survive such a blow, and in all likelihood, neither would he. The best he could hope for was that Moriarty would simply destroy his honour and reputation and send him back to the gutter. He could always settle somewhere else and start from scratch. But he could hardly imagine the Napoleon of Crime being so magnanimous.

On second thought, he wasn’t so sure that letting water run under the bridges would soften the criminal. Putting the most distance between his blunder and their next interview would give him time to imagine the best way to destroy the sniper, and Jim was creative in that area, oh yes. But Sebastian did not have the strength to face the man he loved after what he had just done, so he decided to keep a low profile and confine himself to places where he knew the Firm did not have access. They would eventually get their hands on him at some point, so he might as well enjoy the few moments of freedom he had left.

oOoOoOo

 

Jim Moriarty had been pacing in his apartment for nearly fifteen minutes. He had spent several hours trying to keep busy by tidying up everything, looking at the different files and the small problems that low-level criminals submitted to him, but the distractions did not last long, and nothing seemed to keep his thoughts from Sebastian. Where the hell did that moron go? The sniper could be anywhere, and the more time passed, the further away he would go. Jim knew his boyfriend and his impulsiveness, and he was certain that Sebastian would try by any means to get away from him. If he had only run away, the Irishman would not worry, Sebastian would eventually come back - out of loyalty, fear, regret, whatever. But with what had happened, doubt was no longer allowed: he hated him. What might have caused this change remained a mystery to Jim, which only made him even more frustrated. He had done something that made his companion angry, made some kind of faux pas, pressed the buttons that triggered the tiger's fury, but when? Jim was convinced that he had not acted differently from usual. He was beginning to fear that this feeling had been there for a long time, latent, and that he had only triggered an existing bomb. Shouldn't he have noticed it earlier? He could usually read in Sebastian like an open book, but the more he thought he knew him, the more he realized the complexity of man. Under his simple and abrupt appearance, the sniper was a mysterious man, a puzzle that Jim dreamed of putting together. He had become too attached to him, he had understood that for a while now, but he wouldn't have gone back for anything in the world. And the prospect of losing Sebastian, with everything new and better that he brought him – it horrified him. But it was above all the idea of losing Sebastian himself that scared him.

Scared? Him? He was normally a stranger to the feeling, but he had to admit that it was fear that was knotting his stomach now.

He had made a mistake, and he didn’t know what it was. If he could fix it, make Sebastian understand that he had no bad intentions towards him, maybe everything would be fine.

The ringing of his phone momentarily took him away from his gloomy thoughts. He picked up immediately.

“Dekker!” he called into the device. “Where is he?”

A moment of silence preceded Dekker's hesitant voice.

“We don't know, sir.”

“I don't have time to beat around the bush,” Moriarty said in a menacing voice. “I told you to call me as soon as you found him. What's going on? “

Dekker was clearly ill at ease when he replied:

“We have no idea, sir. We searched every corner of London that is accessible to us, every kind of place he could go. Nothing. We thought we had found him for a moment, but...”

“Look harder!”

Jim didn't give him time to justify himself and hung up the phone. What a bunch of useless tools!  Sebastian couldn't have disappeared into the air, and he hadn't left London - it was impossible without money, and he had left everything in the apartment. In his haste, the sniper had at least left a guarantee of his return.

If Dekker's men had not managed to get their hands on the fugitive, perhaps their employer's presence would motivate them to put a little more of their own into it. Anyway, Jim couldn't stay here doing anything and eating his blood. So, he put on a coat and called his driver before leaving the apartment.

About fifteen minutes later, he was in the premises from which his men were conducting their research. Dekker welcomed him with a worried face.

“I'm sorry, sir. We're still looking, but we haven't found any trace of Moran yet.”

Moriarty walked down the corridor, closely followed by his subordinate.

“You told me you had found a lead,” he reminded them in a menacing voice.

“We did, sir, in Soho, but we’ve lost it. There's no way to know whether it was really him. We can trace part of its journey from your home, but after a few streets, he just disappears into the void. He doesn’t show on any surveillance camera, none of our contacts in the city has seen him, we have contacted all the people close to him - there are not many of them - but no news of him.”

Jim stopped, thoughtful, in front of a screen showing a random street in London, desperately empty. The few people who worked on the machines, checking all the cameras and registers in the city, were now watching their boss without daring to move a finger.

Dekker attempted to fill the oppressive silence.

“We've really searched every possible corner, but our network has its limits, sir. There are places we don't have access to.”

“He knows exactly where to go so that we don't find him”, Jim muttered, more for himself than for Dekker. “He got off the grid, he knew I'd be looking for him.”

“If I'm not mistaken, sir, Moran is head of the assassination department, isn't he? How can he know so much about the research network?”

The look in his boss's eyes made it clear to Dekker that the question wasn’t of any concern to him.

Jim sank into his thoughts, completely ignoring the people around him, who stood as silent as dead bodies. Sebastian Moran knew where Moriarty's hand couldn't reach, and he was hiding right there. He would eventually have to move, but time was running short, and with his current means, Jim could not find Sebastian, not without sending men to the field, which would take a long time. And every second that passed destroyed his chances of fixing the situation a little more.

There was one solution left. Where his network did not have access, another could see and hear anywhere it wanted. But the person who possessed all these eyes and ears was not strictly speaking his friend, and if they had a polite relationship, it was above all an arm wrestling match for control over the city, in which each one tried to obtain as much information as possible about the other to take advantage. His opponent most certainly considered himself on the side of the Good, but for Moriarty they used the same methods, and the man’s moral standards weren’t much higher than his own.

He knew he would help him, he had already done so in the past, and Moriarty himself had provided him with his assistance in situations where his reach wasn’t large enough, or rather, twisted enough. But everything had a price, and the price of the services of the Kingdom of England was high.

Cursing against the extreme means his sentimentalism was forcing him into, Jim Moriarty left the room under the anguished eyes of the employees and walked out into the deserted hallway. Then he took his phone out of his pocket again and dialled Mycroft Holmes' number.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Mycroft Holmes was in the middle of a meeting with his personal secretary about the upcoming Korean presidential elections when his phone began to ring. Many people called him all the time, which was why he always left it on silent mode and paid little attention to it. He simply shot a distracted glance at the screen, then brought his full attention back to it when he realized who was calling him. He waved a hand towards Anthea, who had already gone quiet. He picked up the phone and put it to his ear, while getting up from his chair.

“Holmes,” a voice rose from the handset.

“Moriarty,” Mycroft replied in a neutral tone, nodding slightly. “To what do I owe this call?”

There was a moment of hesitation before an answer came to him.

“Holmes, I need your... services”, Moriarty announced.

Mycroft frowned. Jim Moriarty had his own network, maybe smaller than that of the British government, but not lacking in resources; and the Napoleon of Crime did not like having to rely on the help of others.

Anthea got up to leave the room, but her employer gestured to her that she could stay.

“What kind of situation are you in, which forces you to ask me for help?” asked Holmes with dissimulated curiosity.

“I want to find someone,” Moriarty replied. “I’ve looked for him, but he escapes my network because he knows it too well.”

Mycroft had an understood smile.

“A traitor, I presume.”

The voice on the other end of the wire grew colder.

“You don't need to know that.”

It was hard to analyse a voice over the phone, and Moriarty knew how to control his tone to show the emotions he wanted. Holmes nevertheless noticed that he seemed to have gotten his back up, which was unusual, as far as he could judge. This subordinate runaway seemed to be a sensitive string.

“I think I can help you. But it won't be free, as you can imagine.”

His correspondent hesitated, before answering:

“I have some information that may be of interest to you.”

“About...?

“An attack that will take place in Manchester in three days.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“An attack? Which group is it?”

“Tut-tut-tut. I have already given you some information, which will cost my reputation a lot,” Moriarty replied. “Find my man and I'll give you the details. Not before.”

Holmes frowned.

“How do I know there's really going to be an attack?”

“Come on, Holmes. We're both reasonable men and we have no reason to lie to each other. Manchester, in three days. If you want to be able to save someone there, find Sebastian Moran before tomorrow morning. He's somewhere in London, it's unlikely he's left town. I'll send you a picture of him in a moment.”

Mycroft thought about it for a moment. Moriarty was obviously the only one who knew anything about this attack, and therefore the only one who could prevent it. And the government really needed this information. After all, every time Moriarty and Holmes had had to do business together, they had both been honest - as much as such a term could apply to a consulting criminal and a man holding the British government in his hand.

“All right, Mycroft finally replied. I'll make sure to get my hands on him. I'll just send you his location as soon as we find him. If he's out of London, however, I can't guarantee to find him by tomorrow. He doesn't have a phone or a traceable device on him, I suppose?”

“None. I'll give you my information when you find him. Contact me directly, not a proxy.”

“Understood.”

Mycroft Holmes hung up the phone and gave Anthea a tired look.

“Well, you heard him. Tell the trackers that we need to find a certain Sebastian Moran -” he took a look at his phone “tall, blond, many scars, hiding somewhere in London. And hiding well. Let them know it's urgent. I'm sending you his picture.”

“Very well, sir”, Anthea replied as she stood up.

Mycroft took his place at his desk while his secretary came out of the room with the files. More than the threat of an attack, what interested him most was finding out what could motivate Moriarty to use his services and act so urgently. It was a matter he should monitor closely.

oOoOoOo

 

It was around five in the morning when Jim Moriarty's phone rang again. He had been lying on his bed for several hours, in a vain attempt to fall asleep. The sound made him jolt up, and he immediately picked up when he saw the name of his correspondent.

“We found him,” said Mycroft Holmes' voice on the other end of the line. “He's in Brixton.”

At last! Jim got up and started pacing again.

“Where exactly?”

“On Mervan Road, for now. He's heading for Saint Matthew's Park.”

“And you're sure it's him?”

Jim started putting on his coat to leave the apartment. If Sebastian had been found, he didn't want to waste a second.

“Certain. We followed him for a while from Stockwell, and the camera images match his picture perfectly.”

“All right. I’m sending someone there immediately,” he lied.

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly.

“What about that attack, Mr. Moriarty?”

Jim smiled. Holmes never lost sight of his priorities.

“I'll send you everything you need to know in a moment. It's a big investment I'm losing, be aware of that. And I would ask you to be discreet about your... source.”

“This goes without saying.”

“Alright. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”

He hung up the phone and immediately called Dekker to give him Moran's location and tell him to keep him in sight, after which he called his driver.

The journey to Brixton seemed to take centuries, and Jim couldn’t stay still. What he felt was far beyond anxiety or apprehension. Sebastian had spent the whole night wandering alone in the streets of London hiding from him, and there had to be a reason for that. A reason Jim wasn't sure he’d like; but he absolutely had to put the record straight with his boyfriend, if there was even a chance left to fix the situation. Anyway, he wanted to understand at all costs what might have caused Sebastian to flee. He refrained from thinking about what would happen if the sniper refused to talk to him, or worse, refused to come back with him. It was not an option he wanted to consider.

oOoOoOo

 

The sun was about to rise, and Sebastian could feel the first signs of dawn. He didn't know how long he had been walking, and fatigue clouded his mind, but couldn't stop him. He had tried to sleep on a porch earlier in the night but had only managed to get one or two hours of agitated and useless sleep. However, he would eventually need to rest, eat, and decide on the way forward - he couldn’t wander the streets of London indefinitely like that.

Suddenly a cry came up from behind him.

“SEBASTIAN AUGUSTUS MORAN!”

Sebastian stopped sharply, not daring to turn around. He had perfectly well recognized Jim Moriarty's voice, which was distorted by distance and screaming. He had finally found him after all. The sniper's heart tightened, and he gathered his courage for the upcoming confrontation. Judging by Jim's voice, he was not in the best possible mood - the opposite would have been surprising.

He eventually turned around and saw the frail silhouette of the small Irishman running in his direction, his hair blowing in the wind and his suit barely adjusted. He stopped when he arrived in front of Sebastian, short of breath, and walked forward until he was a few centimetres from the sniper. The latter built himself a neutral face - Moriarty could read people perfectly well, but he was not going to make it any easier for him. Jim, on the other hand, did nothing to hide his emotions, and Sebastian could see the anger on his face, and also what he would have called anxiety if he didn't know Jim so well.

“No news”, the criminal scolded without waiting for the sniper to open his mouth. “No phone, no message, and you disappeared from our radar. I spent the night rummaging all over London to get my hands on you, you idiot!”

Sebastian stepped back and looked away. He knew Jim's mood swings well, having witnessed them many times. Yet the way he spoke calmly, gently before suddenly shouting could easily destabilize the most serene of men, and Sebastian was far from being that man. He could try to defuse the bomb, but without much hope.

“I'm sorry. Really, Boss. What I did is unforgivable, and I know it. You can understand that my first reflex was not to go home.”

“And why is that? You could have contacted me, tried to talk to me. And there’s a lot of things we're going to have to talk about, Sebastian.”

Jim kept staring at him, and the sniper had a hard time keeping his cool. He only wanted to run away from here; but it was no longer an option. In fact, it never had been.

“Do we really have to go through this? Explanations or not, it won't change anything about what I did, or my chances of being forgiven. So please, just apply your punishment, or whatever you intend to do with me.”

Jim remained silent for a moment, his face broken. Was it pain that Sebastian could see in his eyes?

“Sebastian Moran, if I spent all night looking for you instead of waiting for you to come back on your own, it was to get these explanations. I want to understand where I went wrong. There's nothing to forgive, certainly not on your side anyway. I can't correct myself if you won't tell me what I did wrong!”

Sebastian frowned, uncertain of what he had just heard.

“Are you saying you're not mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Mad at _you_?”

Jim shook his head, looking desperate at his companion's stupidity.

“You weren't in your normal state, and I know it's my fault. And if you would just tell me what happened, and why you hate me enough to run away without leaving a trace, maybe I could find a way to fix... to fix what I broke between us.”

Sebastian opened his eyes wide with surprise. Either Jim was really good at acting, or the events had really hurt him more than he had thought. The Moriarty he knew would never admit to making a mistake, let alone ask how to fix it.

With a tight heart, he reached out to Jim's arm.

“I don't hate you”, he said in a voice that trembled more than he would have liked. “I thought you'd hate me, after what I did... I'm sorry, Boss.”

“Don't call me that, Bastian”, the criminal replied harshly. “I'm not your boss today, I'm your boyfriend! When are you going to get that into your head?”

Despite the fear, resignation and anxiety that had gripped him since Jim arrived, a relieved smile appeared on the sniper's lips. If the criminal still considered himself his boyfriend, perhaps all wasn’t lost.

“I think I understand now, Jim.”

Jim smiled back, a smile almost invisible, but it was there all right.

“Perfect.”

Raising up on tiptoe to get up to the sniper's height, he pulled him down to kiss him. Sebastian first had a reflex of retreat, but he let himself go when he felt Jim's lips resting on his own. He had thought he would never taste them again, and all his hopes came back at the same time as his greedy lips assaulted the criminal’s. They made out for what felt like hours, before the cold morning air replaced the burning contact of the other when Sebastian finally moved away.

“I'm sorry...” he whispered.

“Please, Sebby, stop apologizing! Just tell me what happened. What did I do to make you react like that?”

Sebastian lowered his head. He had always tried to hide this aspect of his past from his boyfriend, despite his insistence. But he should have told him earlier, and it was now too late to avoid the question.

“It's when you tied me up. I... I panicked.”

The silence settled for a few moments. Jim didn't seem to want to answer, so Sebastian raised his voice again.

“You’ve always asked me where those scars came from.”

He turned his back to him and pulled on his jacket to show the top of his back. Jim remained silent and motionless, looking grave.

“These ones date back from the campaign of Bengal. It's not an event I like to remember, but... I'd have had to tell you about it eventually, so it might as well be today.”

He turned back to face Jim.

“I was captured, with the rest of my battalion. To this day, I still don't know if those who took us hostage were soldiers, or an independent armed group. But they wanted to get information about our camp. And they got it... the hard way.”

Sebastian ran a hand across his face, before looking up at Jim.

“They tortured us, Jim. For weeks. Weeks I spent in that sordid cellar, getting butchered, beaten, listening to my comrades scream while I was chained, helpless. You have no idea how horrible it was.”

He closed his eyes. Jim still didn't say anything, but he had taken his hand in his own and squeezed it to the point where his knuckles went white.

“After a while, I didn't feel the pain anymore. I tried to resist, Jim, but we all end up talking eventually. We knew almost nothing anyway, and they didn't need any pretext to torture us in the end. When they got tired of playing with us, they threw me and the other two survivors out in front of the doors of our barracks. I'm surprised they didn't just leave us die in the middle of the wilderness.”

He remained silent for a moment, before he resumed talking.

“I'm not afraid of pain anymore. You can hurt me as much as you like, nothing will be worse than what I went through back there. But I can't stand to be tied up. I feel like I'm there again... And you saw the result.”

Silence took hold of the place again. Jim's gaze was riveted to Sebastian's, still squeezing his hand. A lump formed in the sniper's throat. He would have preferred that Jim knew nothing about this story, did not know when he was weak and helpless. But even if he didn't know the sordid details, the criminal probably already knew the sniper's past. And it was sometimes necessary to talk about old wounds, if he didn't want to create new ones.

Jim finally broke the oppressive silence that surrounded them.

“I’ll find them, Sebastian. If there's even one left alive, I swear I'll find him and make him pay for what they did to you.”

Sebastian smiled bitterly.

“They're all dead. Their headquarters were bombed. You don't have to worry about them anymore, Jim, it's all in the past. Dead and buried under ten tons of soil and shell debris.”

He bent over to kiss the small Irishman, this time more gently.

“Please, let's not talk about it anymore.”

Jim nodded.

“We need to go home, Sebby”, he said, finally starting to move, pulling his companion after him. “You haven't slept all night, and neither have I. And you are formally forbidden to disappear again like that, do you understand me?”

“Perfectly understood, Boss,” Sebastian replied with a smile.

oOoOoOo

 

Sitting behind a computer screen, hands crossed under his chin, Mycroft Holmes watched the two silhouettes move away along the street until they finally disappeared from the camera field. He leaned back into his chair, thoughtful. The surveillance video was silent, but this didn’t keep him from understanding the reason behind Moriarty's strange haste. The criminal had not particularly tried to hide it.

“Well, it seems our Napoleon of Crime has a weakness...”

He turned to Anthea, who was standing silently behind his chair.

“Do we have a file on Sebastian Moran?”

“No, sir”, the secretary replied, shaking her head.

“Well, make sure to start one. I want everything there is to know about this man.”

He got up, turned off the computer and left the room, satisfied. After all, there may be a way to catch Moriarty.

 


	13. Pressure point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the new chapter ! Like last time, this is a pretty violent chapter, I try not to write anything too graphic but it’s a story about two criminals, so, you know. Read the warnings first. This could also be titled "When you give a character PTSD for one chapter and then realize you're gonna have to deal with it in the next chapters as well".
> 
> I included a little nod to one of my favorite novels (nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes), hats off to those who’ll notice it.  
> Have fun, and don’t forget that us writers only feed off reviews and the readers’ tears!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta-readers, Finrod and Alexandra!
> 
> EDIT: I reuploaded the chapter, because there were a bunch of mistakes and uncorrected author's notes in it. Apparently I forgot to proof-read everything before posting. Sorry about that.
> 
> Warnings: physical violence and torture, kidnapping, drugs (sort of), PTSD, war, hostage situation

 

Moriarty's network, often referred to as the Firm, was a complex organization, governed by a dizzying hierarchy, where each message, request and information had to go through countless proxies before reaching its recipient - all in order to protect the anonymity of the consulting criminal who ran this sprawling network. One came to wonder how anything could arrive to Moriarty; in fact, he was the only one who knew exactly what was happening, everywhere, all the time, while messengers and other henchmen had access to only fragments of information on the ineffable plots and plans set up by the Napoleon of Crime.

The latter received clients’ requests at the end of an endless chain of proxies. Very few of these people ultimately obtained the help of the consulting criminal himself, but there was always someone in the network to look at the cases presented and get something out of them that could be turned to the Firm's advantage.

The case Moriarty was studying today was no different from the others: a few brief and concise lines in an email containing dozens of other cases, summarizing the request of a client who had never heard the sound of the criminal's voice, and would certainly never hear it. It was hardly anything out of the ordinary, except for its difficulty. It was an assassination, as he had already orchestrated dozens of; but his client required that the death of his target be public and visible, as well as clean and fast. Moriarty would have opted for an explosion - it was hard to make anything more visible - but it was impossible to avoid collateral damage in that way.

He had spent a few hours learning about the future victim, his habits and movements, and had come to the conclusion that the best solution, although boring as it could be, would be a good old bullet in the head. In a crowd, this would likely start a riot and attract attention. There remained the question of precision, to which an obvious answer was required: Sebastian Moran.

Moriarty closed his last searches on the target, got up to walk to the bay window overlooking the Thames, and dialed his second’s number on his phone.

 

oOoOoOo

 

The weather was fine, the view was clear, and the street included several disused buildings that Sebastian could infiltrate as he wished. The perfect conditions were in place so that the assassination would not present more difficulties than a simple training, except for the fact that his target would be lost in a mass of tourists and locals who had come to participate in the festival. Sebastian had taken the precaution of tracking the man from his home, in order to know all his movements in real time, but the game would still be difficult.

The sniper smiled as he quickly climbed the stairs to position himself at one of the windows. At least there was a challenge. He had the impression, lately, that Jim was deliberately giving him the simplest and most boring missions. This certainly wasn’t of an immeasurable difficulty, but it held some interest nevertheless.

Setting up his tripod and rifle only took him a few minutes, and he watched the crowd below for a moment - no target in sight.

With his gaze still fixed on the street, he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and pressed the button, generating an unpleasant crackling noise.

“Petier, where is the target?” he asked as he approached the device to his face.

The crackle went out when he released the button, then reappeared at the same time as a woman's voice replied:

“He's entering your street, sir. You should see him in no time.”

“Appearance?”

“Navy blue sweater, red cap, brown and grey hiking backpack. He’s walking on the left side of the road, a few meters from the sidewalk.”

Sebastian bent down to stick his eye to the scope of his weapon and look towards the entrance of the street. It took him a minute to locate the man responding to the description given to him by his agent.

“I have him,” he announced in the walkie-talkie, without taking his eyes off the man in the blue sweater. “I'm cutting off the communication, I don't want to be disturbed while I shoot.”

“Roger that, sir”, came the voice from the device, then nothing.

Sebastian focused again on his target. The crowd was moving slowly, and it would take a few more minutes for him to be in the perfect place to shoot, but now that the sniper had him in sight, he could no longer lose him.

He was so focused on his victim that he didn’t hear the quiet footsteps on the bare concrete behind him, nor did he feel a person bending down to approach him. On the other hand, what Sebastian felt perfectly was a taser blow to his neck.

oOoOoOo

Sebastian couldn’t tell how much time had passed when he finally came out of his torpor. His environment gradually brought him back to consciousness. His eyelids were too heavy for him to open, and he only felt the freshness of the place where he was, as well as a tangle of dull pains all over his body - the burning on his neck, the numbness of his limbs, many bruises... He couldn’t figure out his own body. The physical pain echoed the discomfort that quickly overwhelmed him.

With an effort that seemed monumental to him, he opened his eyes, just enough to see the room he was in, but not enough to show that he was awake.

The place was dark, and big. That was all he could make out for the time being, through the blur of his tears of pain and his numb mind. Whatever this place was, it didn't bode well.

With difficulty, he tried to take stock of his situation. A taser blow. That was all he could remember. Then he had probably been beaten up, or at least dragged mercilessly to this unknown place. He had been attacked before he could complete his mission. Where was he now? Dark room, pain... he tried to move his sore limbs, without success, and only managed to awaken the pain, created by the friction of a rope on his wrists and ankles...

Fetters!

Sebastian opened his eyes suddenly as the adrenaline, which had taken its time to arrive, finally flowed into his brain. He was sitting on a chair, to which his feet and hands were tied.

Fetters!

He was now perfectly awake, and his start when he realized the situation had not gone unnoticed. Two men approached him with measured steps, an unpleasant smile on their faces. 

The horror-tinged memories briefly invaded Sebastian's mind.

Bengal.

The escape from Jim's house.

Not again!

“Sleeping Beauty has finished her nap?” one of the two guards asked in a mocking voice.

Sebastian tensed up but didn't answer. He simply looked around the room. If he wanted to survive, he had to concentrate. It was a large empty space with bare concrete walls, without any furniture - at least nothing he could see, but the room seemed to continue behind him, the adrenaline whispered. In addition to the two men who had approached him, a woman stood a little further away, near the wall, both hands behind her back. She looked at him harshly.

“Listen here, Moran”, said the other man, “it's going to be very simple. You answer our questions nicely, and we don't hurt you too much. You try to keep secrets, or you lie to us, it's going to be very bad for you.”

“You're lucky, you're not our main target”, his colleague continued, “so we don't have too many questions to ask you. I couldn't say the same for your boss, mind you...”

Your boss.

An image of Jim imposed itself on Sebastian's mind.

Jim tied to a chair in a room similar to this one.

Jim at the mercy of these brutes.

 _You must protect him_ , whispered the adrenaline that was now bathing his entire brain.

“Did you understand us alright?” the first of the two men asked as he leaned towards him.

Sebastian looked up to the man. In a sudden movement, he leaned forward to raise the chair to which he was attached and pivoted to give it a big blow in the legs of the guard. The man, taken by surprise, collapsed, and Sebastian almost followed him by losing his balance. The foot of the chair landed right on the chest of the man on the ground. By the time the second guard understood what was happening, the first had tried to push back the wooden foot, and Sebastian took advantage of the movement to violently headbutt the second. The intense pain in Sebastian’s ankles and wrists tried to get his attention but was totally ignored by the adrenaline that refused to let go of his brain’s controls.

Sebastian was now on the floor, still tied to the chair, which prevented him from making the slightest movement to get up. He brutally tried to free himself from his bonds; with no other result than to tear off his skin. He could only see the two fallen men and the feet of a third guard who had just rushed to help the other two up. He looked upwards. The woman standing by the wall was approaching him with a determined look on her face.

“He is too violent,” he heard one of the guards say. “We have to put him back to sleep.”

The woman did not answer, did not even nod. She left Sebastian's field of vision for a moment, before reappearing with a syringe in her hand. Sebastian tried to crawl away on the ground, but she grabbed the chair with one hand and pulled it towards herself.

“Go die!” he shouted. “You'll never get him!”

“You underestimate the British government, Moran”, the woman replied before sticking the syringe into a vein in Sebastian's neck.

The sniper still struggled for a few moments, but the drugs quickly kicked in, and he fell unconscious once again.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Jim Moriarty was pacing around his office. Sebastian was supposed to meet him at Baynes Street HQ once his mission was over, to report back to him; but the sniper was still not there. Was the target so complicated to reach? He was certain that he had not overestimated Moran's abilities. The target had probably had an unexpected behaviour that forced Sebastian and his assistant to change their plan, which would explain the delay. He hesitated for a moment to call the sniper, but he knew that he hated being disturbed in the middle of a mission, and even if he didn't always respect his boyfriend's requests, Moriarty would certainly not jeopardize a mission just for the sake of annoying Moran.

Instead, he dialled the number of Claire Petier, the agent who was to accompany Sebastian in the field.

“ _Mr. Rust?_ ” asked a voice in the handset after a few tones had been heard.

John Rust was an alias used by Moriarty when he assumed the role of Moran's superior. Petier had no idea who he really was.

“What is the status of the Black Bird mission?” he asked in a deep voice. “I should have had a report from Moran by now.”

“ _The last time I heard him, sir, he had the target in his sights_ ”, the agent replied. “ _Then he cut off communications to focus on his shot_.”

Moriarty remained silent for a moment. So, Moran hadn't contacted his assistant again. But if the mission had to be re-improvised, he would have had to ask Claire for help...

“When was the last time you were in contact?”

“ _Almost two hours ago, sir_.”

Dismayed, Jim hung up without answering. What the hell was taking him so long? He had clearly told him not to go solo without informing anyone, even if the mission went wrong. He sat down at his desk before dialling the sniper number. Too bad for him if he was still on a mission, he couldn't keep his superior in the dark.

Several tones rang before someone picked up the phone.

“ _Mr. Moriarty?_ ”

Jim stiffened up. The voice was clearly not Sebastian's. It was nevertheless a familiar tone.

“No, I’m the Queen of England. Who am I speaking to?” he asked in a voice that did not hide his growing irritation.

“ _Holmes. But I think you suspected that, didn't you?_ ”

If Mycroft Holmes had taken possession of Moran's phone, it meant the sniper was in danger. Jim got up from his desk and started walking around the room again, frowning.

“What do you want?”

“ _We have your right hand,_ ” Mycroft announced.

As if that wasn't already obvious.

“ _I wish I could have told you that no harm was done to him_ ”, Holmes continued, “ _but unfortunately he showed some resistance. He had to be controlled_.”

It was too late now to hide the importance Sebastian had in the eyes of the criminal, Mycroft was obviously already aware of it.

“I wish I could have told you that no harm will come to you if you let him leave without injury,” Jim replied in an ice-cold voice, “but that would be a lie. If you've so much as touched one of his hairs, Holmes, I swear to you, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

A small joyless laugh rose from phone.

“ _We didn't damage him too much,_ ” he said. “ _Not yet. And we will not keep him in any longer, if you are kind enough to come pick him up yourself. His freedom, against yours, Moriarty. And as time goes by, you'll have less chance of seeing him alive again._ ”

Mycroft was powerful, but Moran was far from being helpless. They weren't going to like the tiger they just caught.

“You’ve made a mistake, Holmes,” Moriarty replied. “You don't touch Sebastian Moran. NEVER!”

Holmes hung up.

Moriarty violently slammed his hands on the desk, letting the phone waltz somewhere in the room. They had taken Sebastian! Holmes had just made the worst mistake of his life. He had just signed his own death warrant, and Jim would personally make sure that the rest of his life was Hell. But there were more urgent needs.

Mycroft wanted to use Sebastian as a bargaining chip. He had not even bothered to ask for simple information in exchange for the sniper, he immediately demanded that Moriarty surrender to the authorities to save Moran. He clearly didn’t know the Napoleon of Crime. And yet....

Jim himself was not sure how far he would go to protect Sebastian. But complying with the rules of the game set out by Mycroft was out of question. He would get Sebastian out of this shithole on his own, and woe to anyone who would dare get in his way.

He didn't even know where Sebastian was being held prisoner. MI6 obviously had many bases, and Moriarty had infiltrated some of them; Holmes certainly knew he had spies, but he didn't know where. If his moles couldn't locate the sniper, Jim would hack into the security of the other bases. Once Sebastian was found, he would then have to set up a plan to get him out, an infallible plan; and he would have to act quickly: Holmes didn’t have much patience, and Sebastian's time was limited. It would be complicated, but he was ready to take on the challenge. Mycroft didn't know who he had just attacked.

oOoOoOo

 

When Sebastian woke up again, he was still tied up in the dark and cold room. He hadn't expected anything else, but part of him had hoped that maybe someone had come to get him, or that it had all been just a bad dream. Too bad. The events had anyway been too real and painful to be just a product of his sick imagination.

Footsteps resounded in the room; and a few seconds after he opened his eyes, the woman who had spoken to him a little earlier - or was it days before? - entered his field of vision.

The memories, along with an adrenaline rush, swept over his brain, and he abruptly tried to get up. The ties strongly attacked his skin and caused him to growl in pain as well as frustration. Not only was he attached to the chair, this time the chair itself was stuck to the floor.

He looked up at the woman, who was staring at him condescendingly. She was holding a taser in her hand.

“None of that, Moran. You already know what happens when you try to resist.”

She waved the taser.

“It’s just powerful enough to deliver a shock that will burn your skin without making you pass out. You won't escape into Morpheus' arms this time.”

Sebastian tried to control his panting breath, unsuccessfully. He had to get out of there. It was worse than anything he could have imagined: he wasn't dissociating because of a bloody post-traumatic stress disorder, he was really locked up and about to be tortured. And no one was coming to get him. He would have to free himself by his own means, which were now reduced to nothing.

“Let me go!” he yelled in a hoarse voice as the woman approached him and bent down to stand at his height.

“No one can hear you, Moran”, she said calmly. “And I'm certainly not the one who's going to release you. Well. Let's start with something simple. What is your exact role in Moriarty's network?”

“Go die, you fucking whore!”

The taser shock that followed made him scream in pain. Arched on the chair, he tried violently to fight, although he knew that it was impossible to free himself. But what were his other options? Selling Jim to them? No way. They could torture him to death, he would never give them any information about Moriarty. He trusted him, and the very idea of betraying him was far worse than anything these people could possibly put him through.

“Let’s try again. What is your job?”

The future appeared in a red mist to Sebastian. He would spend the rest of his life, probably very short, bearing the pain to protect Jim, waiting either for his torturers to get tired or for death to come take him.

He did not answer, and simply stared into her eyes with all the hatred and anger he was capable of. The second taser hit was more bearable than the first. He was already getting used to it.

oOoOoOo

A day had already passed since Holmes contacted Moriarty, and he was having trouble controlling his anxiety. Every minute that went by took him a little further away from Sebastian. The only way to withstand the pressure was to keep his mind busy, and he did so by elaborating plan after plan to extract the sniper from the rat hole he was in. Having no indication on where he was, he had to prepare details for every possible eventuality, getting ready to release prisoners from any MI6 facility.

On the outside, he seemed as calm and reserved as usual, only someone who knew him well could have noticed the signs that betrayed him - pacing around his office thinking, nervously tapping the table with his fingers, and especially his unusual, even for him, consumption of coffee. He hadn't slept a minute since Mycroft's phone call; and had he tried, he wouldn't have been able to silence the emotions that were jostling in his head long enough to get some rest.

He had contacted all his moles undercover in the government - Mycroft knew there were some, but he didn't know how many - so they would actively seek Sebastian. Several of these agents worked in some of the places where MI6 held sensitive prisoners, and a few had a high enough rank to have access useful information about detainees. Unfortunately, Moriarty's network did not cover all of the government's secret detention centres, and the criminal could only pray that Moran would be held in a place to which he had access.

He was thinking about what he would do if he wasn’t when the phone on his desk rang. He answered immediately.

“ _Mr. Moriarty? This is Frost. I've located the Tiger._ ”

Frost was one of the agents Moriarty had managed to infiltrate into an MI6 outpost in South London. He worked in the security department, a position with little responsibility but which gave him to access a large amount of information without question.  Frost was obviously not his real name, but a code name. He also used one to talk about Moran - the line was perfectly secure, but one could never be too careful.

Moriarty immediately rested the pen he had been fiddling with for a while and sat up in his chair.

“At base 38, in Earlsfield?”

The voice at the other end was slightly altered by the frying on the line and by a vocoder, but nevertheless perfectly understandable.

“ _That's the one. He is in one of the most secure cells_ ”, Frost explained. “ _No guards outside his door, everything is automated. They took him out several times to bring him into.._.”

He paused for a moment, before resuming, in a lower voice:

“ _Into a torture chamber_.”

Moriarty didn’t comment. Holmes had heavily implied it, and hearing it from Frost only confirmed his fears, but there was nothing he could do about it - not yet.

“ _From what I saw_ ”, the agent continued, “ _they don't feed him; but he's only been here 26 hours, they'll have to do it sooner or later. I don't have any other information about him, I only saw him once, but I have access to the schedules of the guards who are handling his case, and to the various security systems on the base_.”

Frost went quiet, waiting for Moriarty to answer. The latter remained silent for a moment.

“Very well”, he finally answered. “I need the schedules of these guards, as well as the schedule of security patrols. A map of the base. And the details of security systems, particularly cameras and door automation. Experts will analyse all of this. You will be contacted as soon as we have an action plan. We will need you on site.”

“ _Duly noted_ ”, Frost replied. “ _But... security patrols are random. They change every day_.”

“Then give me the schedule every day.”

“ _Understood_.”

 

Moriarty cut off the communication and returned to his computer. He knew a little bit about base 38, but did not have enough information to launch the plan immediately. But he had some leads. Sebastian would not stay locked up much longer, and may God help anyone who tried to stand in his way.

 

oOoOoOo

 

In the prison, it was impossible to know how fast time was passing. And being half in a coma most of the time, woken from a much needed sleep by the constant pain and questions from the guards, didn't help much. The fury of the early hours had dissipated, the adrenaline had finally disappeared, and Sebastian had found no other solution than to withdraw into his mind to bear the pain. The guards and the woman in a suit only asked their questions to a zombie, and the prisoner had stopped shouting and struggling a long time ago. No answers were ever given, and the questioning sessions were becoming less and less frequent.

As for Sebastian himself, he was in a pitiful state. Reality was slipping on him like water on glass. The pain signals sent by his body no longer reached his brain, and he simply stared at the ground with empty eyes. In his head, he was back in Bengal - or in a personal hell that looked like it. The scenes of horror repeated themselves one after the other, in a tangle of morbid memories that gradually lost their meaning. The only glimmer of consciousness in his mind was maintained by Jim's memory - had it not been for the hope that Moriarty would come for him, Sebastian would probably have already gone mad. He had already experienced this situation, and he knew that he couldn’t bear the pain forever.

He had just been thrown into his cell for the umpteenth time, after an interrogation as unsuccessful as the previous ones. If he had been able to think about it, Sebastian would surely have understood that the guards were only attacking him on principle, because the possibility of obtaining information from him was reduced to nothing. But Sebastian focused all his meagre strength on Jim. His love was the only anchor that prevented him from sinking permanently into the hell of his brain, and he clung to it like a lost soul - which he was. Jim, Jim would come and save him... maybe. And if he didn't, at least he could be proud of his right hand. Sebastian would not betray him.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour when the sound of the lock of his cell being opened made him look up. Before his indifferent eyes, the heavy metal door opened slightly. There were a few muffled whispers before it was pushed open. Sebastian, sitting on the floor of his cell, observed the three men who had just appeared in the frame with no reaction.

“We're there”, one of them announced in a low voice, probably into a microphone.

“Moran?” the second asked.

The sniper gave him an empty look. The guards had already come an hour ago. Hadn't they understood by now that these interrogations were useless? He closed his eyes. Increasing their frequency would not change Sebastian's resolution.

The unusual clothes of the three men - a dark grey suit and a hood over their heads - had nothing to do with the uniforms of the prison guards; but in the apathetic state in which Sebastian found himself, these details only sounded a weak alarm in the depths of his mind.

The men approached to examine him. What they saw must not have pleased them, for two of them frowned. The third one crouched down and grabbed Sebastian's handcuffed hands.

“We have to hurry,” he reminded his comrades.

Sebastian opened his eyes, his eyebrows slightly frowned. In his mind, the alarm grew a little louder.

It took the man a minute, under the intrigued gaze of the sniper, to force open the handcuffs. The other two intruders were watching the door when their colleague threw the handcuffs on the floor, making them turn around.

Sebastian stood up against the wall, rubbing his sore wrists. In the midst of the fog of dissociation, a glimmer of consciousness began to emerge. These men did not work for MI6. They were here for another reason. But his survival instinct, heightened by his situation, did not allow him to trust anyone, or to hope for a rescue too miraculous to be credible.

One of the two men on the lookout approached the sniper and squatted down to get up to his height.

“Moran, how are you feeling?”

Sebastian maintained his gaze.

“Bad”, he muttered. “Pain. I'm... in pain.”

“It's normal, in your condition. We're going to take care of you.”

He stood up and reached a hand out to him.  The sniper stared at it for a moment, hesitating, before leaning against the wall to get up without help. The other one smiled.

“Not so bad, apparently.”

“We're going to need all the help we can get”, said the man who had undone the handcuffs.

The other nodded.

“You're right. Do you think you can hold a weapon?” he added to Moran's attention.

At the same time as the word "weapon", the alarm in his mind was finally heard, and he was now perfectly awake - although not really in tune with reality. The adrenaline was once again taking possession of his body, taking precedence over reflection. Whatever these men wanted from him, having a gun could only help him.

So he nodded, and reached out his hand when the man stuffed in his suit. He finally handed him a gun, which Sebastian took without hesitation.

Although he had been doubting everything that had happened so far, the weight of the weapon in his hand was very real and gave the veteran his usual courage back. He was no longer helpless and at the mercy of outside forces. Only to those of his own mind, sick, lost and just as tortured as his body had been in the last few days.

The man made the mistake of turning his back on him.

Calling on years of military reflexes, Sebastian grabbed the collar of the suit and pulled the man violently towards him, before pressing the barrel of his gun against his skull. When they heard the first man's cry, the other two men turned around. The sniper looked at them in turn.

“You drop your weapons,” he grunted to them. “You stay here. You let me go. Otherwise....”

He waved the gun slightly, making his hostage whimper.

“Bang!”

One of them slowly squatted to the ground, while plunging one hand into his suit. The other didn't take his eyes off Sebastian, and announced in his microphone:

“Calculation error. He's not stable. We're gonna have to move on to plan B....”

He stayed quiet for a moment, frowning. Sebastian was still not moving but pressed his weapon harder when he saw that the second guard was not responding.

“What do you mean? Sir, we can't...”

There was a brief silence again, then the man put his hand on his colleague's arm. Sebastian suddenly realized that he had taken a syringe out of his jacket, taking advantage of the sniper's attention being on the man with the microphone. The sniper pointed his gun at the man with the syringe, still holding his hostage firmly.

“No plan B. He wants to talk to him.”

The man with the syringe shot his colleague a worried look.

“Who wants to talk to me?” Sebastian shouted.

No one answered, but the man simply raised his hand in the air, showing that he had no weapon, and handed him his earpiece and microphone with the other. Sebastian hesitated for a moment, looking at him suspiciously, then released his hold on his hostage to take the object. Without taking his eyes off the three men, he put the device to his ear.

“Hello?”

“ _Sebastian._ ”

The sniper’s eyes widened, and he almost dropped his weapon in surprise. The voice he had just heard had been like an electric shock. He never thought he'd hear it again.

“Jim?” he asked under his breath.

“ _I'm here_.”

Sebastian was gradually coming back to his senses. If Jim was here, everything would be fine. Maybe he wasn't lost after all.

“ _Calm down, Sebastian. And listen to me. There are three men in your cell. They're gonna get you out of here, but you have to trust them. If you follow them, everything will be fine_.”

“Are they with you?”

“ _I sent them. Sebastian, you have to stay calm and do as they tell you. Do you understand?”_

“They will find us,” he replied, ignoring the question. “The guards...”

He shivered at the thought. He didn't want to fall into the hands of these men again.

“ _The guards are out of the way... but not for long, so you have to hurry_.”

Sebastian nodded, although Jim couldn't see him.

“All right.”

“ _I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiger. I promise_.”

Jim went silent. Sebastian hesitated for a moment, then returned the microphone and earpiece to their owner.

“Moran, you have to follow us,” said one of the men. “We’ve blocked the guards and cameras, and someone at HQ is controlling the doors, but we don't know how long it will take for MI6 to regain control.”

Moran nodded and followed them into the corridor. Two men walked in front of him, the third one behind. The place was deserted – it wasn’t very frequented anyway under normal circumstances, but this time the absence of guards was obvious. Sebastian was still far from being back to his normal state, but the adrenaline in his veins, the weight of the weapon in his hand, and the certainty that Jim was waiting for him at the end of the tunnel had at least brought him back to a state of consciousness sufficient to ensure his survival. Now he felt like a hunted animal rather than a zombie; and it is never good to hunt a tiger.

The march through the deserted corridors of the base was conducted in a cautious silence. The three intruders seemed to know how to find their way around perfectly, while the place seemed to Sebastian like a labyrinth. The neon lights hurt his tired eyes, and he could hear every sound, every creak, every footstep as if amplified ten times. He was ultra-conscious of his surroundings, as if his brain wanted to catch up after the inactivity and apathy of the previous days. No one was talking, and his guides would stop from time to time to take a look in a hallway before entering it. All the doors they walked through were unlocked and opened without a squeak.

Sebastian was anxiously fiddling the trigger of his gun. It was all too perfect. Where were the guards? How could all the doors be opened on his way? He tried to ignore these thoughts and focused on Jim. Freedom was only a few corridors away, and his boyfriend was waiting for him outside. He had been afraid Moriarty would abandon him, but he had been wrong.

They had finally reached the main hall, and the doors of the building were only ten metres from the small group, when an alarm suddenly rose, accompanied by running footsteps.

“Shit!” one of the men cursed, turning back to the source of the noise.

“Guards,” muttered a second in an urgent voice into his microphone. “They found us.”

The other two pulled out their weapons, while Sebastian looked around him, seemingly lost.

“Almost,” replied the man in the microphone to an inaudible question.

He waved his arm to his companions, just as armed guards appeared at the other end of the hall.

“We're getting out! The van is here!”

They started running towards the door, but stopped sharply when they heard a scream of rage rising behind them.

Sebastian hadn’t followed them and was shooting bullet after bullet at the guards. The latter had reflexed back into the corridor but were now coming out to retaliate.

“Shiiiiiiiiit...” one of the rescuers swore as he rushed back to the enraged sniper. The other two also opened fire on the guards, in a reckless attempt to protect Sebastian.

“Moran, come on,” the man shouted, grabbing Sebastian's arm and throwing his weapon to the ground.

The sniper resisted for a few seconds, before he realized that for once, violence would not allow him to save his own skin, and that he’d better follow the others.

A van was waiting for them outside, all doors open. It started as soon as the four fugitives were on board.

One of the two men who had been shooting at the guards had been wounded in the leg. One of his companions was tending to his wound with a makeshift bandage, while the other checked on Sebastian. The latter had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply to try to calm down. The shots from the hall were still ringing in his head, but he knew he was safe now.

The man with the microphone made his last report.

“We are in the van,” he announced. “Moran is fine... apart from everything he went through while he was alone in there. Orton is injured, but nothing that can't heal quickly. We’re taking them directly to Baynes Street HQ for care.”

After receiving the answer from his correspondent, he removed the headset and put it in his pocket.

“Back to Camden Town”, he announced to the driver, who had heard the conversation anyway.

Sebastian allowed himself to smile. He was out of danger now. At least for the time being.

oOoOoOo

Jim Moriarty was sitting at his desk, staring into the void. The wait was long, but even though he was the boss, he could not go against the doctor's recommendations, not when Sebastian's recovery was at stake. The sniper had been brought back safe and sound - more safe than really sound, actually - to the Firm's HQ, and Jim was not allowed to talk to him for the time being. He needed to "rest and avoid emotional stimulation", he’d been told. He had been able to visit him and see for himself the wounds and the terrible physical condition in which Sebastian was, while he was sleeping; but he couldn’t talk to him until doctors made sure that his mental state was stable. In the meantime, he was thinking of Holmes. The man had aimed right by attacking Sebastian - far too right. But he knew Moriarty very little if he thought his actions would have no consequences. The criminal would wait as long as it took, and Holmes would probably have forgotten the event when his revenge fell, tortuous and merciless, and as close to the heart of the Ice Man as this attack had been to the heart of the Napoleon of Crime.

A few knocks came from his office door.

“Come in!” Jim replied in an exasperated voice.

The visitor opened the door and hesitated for a moment before entering. This was one of the three agents who conducted the rescue operation.

“Dr. Lawn says you can come and see Mr. Moran, sir.”

Moriarty stood up and walked towards the door.

“Already? He made it clear that Sebastian wouldn’t be able to see anyone for at least a day.”

“Well... Moran is asking for you. Insistently.”

Jim allowed himself a light smile. He was probably making his doctors go through the mills. It was typical of Sebastian.

The infirmary door was closed, but Moriarty didn't even stop to knock. When he entered, a doctor was examining the machines next to the bed in which Sebastian was lying. The latter was bare-chested and covered with plasters, bandages, needles and various threads. When the sniper saw his boyfriend walk in, he tried to get up from his bed.

“Jim!”

“No, no, no, stay down, Sebastian,” the doctor replied, forcing him back to bed.

Jim approached the bed.

“Thank you, Dr. Lawn," he said to the doctor, "I think you can leave us now.”

“But I have to take care of Sebastian...” Lawn replied.

“I'll take care of him now,” Moriarty insisted in an irrevocable voice.

The doctor understood the message, and left the room with a final nod to his patient.

 

He had barely closed the door when Sebastian grabbed Jim's shirt to pull him into a kiss. Jim followed suit, carried away by the sniper's passion. The kiss tasted like blood, and only reminded Jim of the horror he had just pulled Sebastian out of.

“I missed you so much...” the sniper whispered when they separated.

Jim was surprised to see tears in Sebastian's eyes. What could they have done to him, usually so strong and confident, that he would find himself like this?

“I'm here now, Sebastian. It's over now.”

“I told them noth-...”

“I know,” Jim cut him off, “I know. I would have known by now if you had. And even so...”

He didn't finish his sentence, but it was obvious that Jim wouldn’t have held it against Sebastian if he had given information to Mycroft. And yet Moriarty was not normally gentle with traitors.

Sebastian must have noticed his boyfriend's unease, because he preferred to change the subject.

“How did you do it? MI6's security is impenetrable, and yet there wasn't a single guard on our way when we left. And how did you find me so easily?”

Jim shook his head and smiled.

“I didn't find you easily. I had to call on all my undercover agents in the government, two of whom got unmasked. They were not careful enough in their research. But Mycroft made the mistake of keeping you near London, it helped us.”

“Mycroft? Sebastian repeated as he frowned.

Jim had forgotten that the sniper had never heard of Holmes.

“Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country,” he explained. “And the most pretentious, if you ask me. He alone controls the entire British government. And he doesn't like my activities.”

“He kidnapped me to make me give him information about the network...” Sebastian muttered. “He must have known my position in the Firm.”

“No,” Jim contradicted him. “He kidnapped you to get me to turn myself in.”

Sebastian stared at him for a moment without a word, his eyebrows frowned. He had not considered this possibility.

“You were meant to be a bargaining chip,” Jim continued, noting his companion's silence. “Your freedom against mine.”

“And he really expected you to surrender? “

Jim shook his head.

“Probably not. He's too smart to take such a shortcut. But he certainly thought that I would try to negotiate and that he would get useful information out of it.”

In truth, Moriarty didn't know what game the Ice Man was playing, but he knew he would eventually find out. He preferred to change the subject.

“Our agent, who worked at base 38, the one where you were held, managed to hack into the security systems. It was pretty easy to do from the inside. He then passed the controls over to our HQ, which remotely disabled all cameras on the base and locked all areas where guards or personnel were located. Only the doors on the way out were unlocked, and we sent in a small team to take care of you.”

Sebastian thought for a moment.

“Giving me a gun was not a very good idea,” he finally pointed out. “I almost murdered one of your men. You must have known I wasn't in a normal state.”

“You had to be able to defend yourself, in case things went wrong,” Jim justified. “In case of a problem, the agents were ordered to drug you to put you out of harm's way, but it had to be the last resort.”

“Last resort my ass, they tried to drug me one minute after they found me...”

“Can't say you've been very cooperative,” Jim replied.

“You'll excuse me, but my survival reflexes were a little loose. I didn't spend very pleasurable days in that prison.”

Jim got up and walked to the window, turning his back on the patient.

“They will pay for what they dared to do, Sebastian. Holmes must understand that no one can attack you without consequences.”

“All right,” Sebastian agreed. “Believe me, I want revenge too. As soon as I’m back on my feet, all you have to do is tell me where I can find this Mycrosoft, or whatever his name is. A bullet between the eyes should be enough to make him understand that it was a big mistake.”

“No!”

Sebastian jumped.

“What do you mean, no? I thought you wanted revenge.”

Jim turned back to the sniper again.

“Killing someone is not revenge, it's an outlet. I want to destroy him. Let him see his life collapse around him, and let him know that I'm the one who destroyed it.”

Sebastian looked at Jim, worried. His face was smooth, without any emotion; but his eyes... his eyes were burning with a cold rage that Sebastian had never seen before. And for a moment, he was afraid. He had already seen Moriarty angry, and he knew how dangerous this man with whom he shared his life was - even for him. But never before had he seen this terrible and cold determination. In that moment, he felt that Jim was ready to blindly destroy everything in his path in order to achieve his goal, regardless of whether he was destroying himself.

“Isn't that a little... exaggerated?” asked Sebastian, hesitant. “I'm here. I’m fine, and there will be no long-term consequences, according to Lawn. In any case, nothing more than all the junk that has been lying around in my head since Bengal,” he added after a moment's reflection.

Jim squeezed the sniper's hand briefly.

“No. That's what happens when someone touches the people I love.”

He walked away from the bed and made his way towards the door.

“Jim!” Sebastian called out.

He turned around. Sebastian stared into his eyes for a moment, before asking:

“Would you do the same for Richard?”

Moriarty's face was unreadable.

He turned his heels and left the room.

 


	14. Family reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Today is the return of the secret twin and of Moran Jr… because the more the merrier! Especially when your name is Moriarty or Moran (Richard would beg to differ, but his last name is Brook, so…)
> 
> I want to thank my betas Finrod and Alexandra for their help and their corrections. As well as my friend Jean for their great help with the scenario on this chapter, they have very good idea when it comes to crashing a family reunion.
> 
> On another note, I have finished writing the SeveRich fanfic I mentioned a while ago, titled First Steps. It is currently in its edition phase and should be published in June.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Warnings: physical violence, kidnapping, bullying (mentioned)

 

A long day had just ended for Richard Brook, and all he wanted to do was go back home and spend a quiet evening with his boyfriend. He and Severin had recently made the decision to move in together, which was a first for Richard, and one of the best choices he had ever made in his life. Admittedly, living together in a small apartment was not always easy for a shy and reserved man, used to living alone, but he had never felt so at home as he did near Severin.

The blond was already there when Richard arrived, and was reading a book on the couch. He let his companion put his things down and get comfortable before coming to kiss him.

“Good day today?” he asked. “I didn't see you around...”

Richard sighed.

“They gave me overtime around lunch... a round trip to Carland Cross. I barely had time to eat, and I'm exhausted.”

“Hey. It's almost the weekend, Bunny. Speaking of which...”

Richard smiled and sat on the couch next to Severin.

“I know, it's your birthday. I haven't forgotten, don't worry.”

“Oh, that's not what I meant. I mean, yes, sort of. Anyway... My brother's coming to spend the weekend here. It's been a long time since we've seen each other, and I really want to introduce you to him.”

“Sebastian? Indeed, it's probably time I met him,” Richard agreed.

Richard seemed enthusiastic about meeting the eldest of the Morans, but Severin couldn't help but notice that he looked uncomfortable.

“If it's about your brother,” he said, passing his arm around Richard's shoulders, “don't worry about it. It's just Sebastian.”

Richard smiled.

“I can handle my brother's presence, you know. But you're right, it's better that only Sebastian comes.”

 

oOoOoOo

 

“In Cornwall? Seriously?”

Jim Moriarty was pacing around in his living room, looking overwhelmed. The idea of going to Cornwall didn't bother him that much, but he was resisting simply on principle. Sebastian shouldn’t get used to him accepting everything.

The sniper observed him walking in circles with a brisk pace. Jim didn’t fool him, but rather than confronting him about it, he just preferred to wait until his boyfriend finished being a drama queen and started packing.

“Look, it's my brother's birthday,” he replied nevertheless. “And he can't come to London. It's just a weekend, the Firm can do without you for two days.”

Jim nodded negatively.

“Fal Vale, too! Of all places in Cornwall, it has to be this godforsaken hole!”

Sebastian gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Let me remind you that you were the one who drove my brother into this ‘godforsaken hole’, Jim. You should have anticipated family reunions when you made that decision.”

"It's all Richard's fault. He's the one who went to bury himself there.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Jim pouted.

“Because he hates me, after all I've done for him...”

Sebastian gave his shoulder a friendly punch, immediately triggering an exaggerated reaction from Jim.

“Oh, stop it. He doesn't hate you, he's scared to death by you. I wonder what the hell you did to him to make him afraid of you like that...”

Jim shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't think he liked the method I was using on the morons who were harassing him at school.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, let's just say they had a few... accidents. Definitive accidents for the most persistent.”

“And now I'm starting to wonder what your parents were doing then... no, no, don't answer that, I think I'd rather not know.”

Jim only replied with a smirk.

“Well, anyway,” Sebastian continued, “it's time you saw your brother again in good conditions. Severin and I will be there to make sure it doesn't turn into a fraternal war.”

“I don't see why...”

“And by fraternal war,” Sebastian interrupted, “I mean you bullying Richard. If anything happens to him, Severin will kill both of us, so I'm counting on you.”

“And who is responsible for ensuring other’s survival, now...”

“Stop it. I'm the babysitter here.”

“I don't need a babysitter!” Jim shouted, outraged.

Sebastian slumped down on the couch with a smile on his face.

“Of course you don’t.”

oOoOoOo

 

The train entered Fal Vale station with a heavy metal rumble. Richard liked this noise, and often compared it to the hum of some kind of monstrous feline, whom he was one of the few to have tamed. Severin stood by his side, his hair ruffled by the wind created by the engine. They were both staring at the train, Severin happily waiting for the meeting, Richard with a slight apprehension. His boyfriend had spoken of Sebastian in good terms, and Richard was happy to meet him, but he couldn't help but remember that the elder of the Morans was closely related to Jim Moriarty. Richard would have been better off without this connection. And despite the fact that Severin confirmed Sebastian's coming alone, Richard knew Jim would find a way to come and sneak into his life again.

The train doors were beginning to open, and Severin distractedly took Richard's hand into his own. The young man shook his head. He was there to meet Severin's brother, not to worry about his own twin. Whatever happened, he promised himself that he wouldn’t let his animosity towards Jim ruin his relationship with Severin's family.

“Hey!” Severin shouted joyfully as he squeezed Richard's hand. “There he is!”

He pointed to one of the wagons a few dozen metres away. Indeed, a tall blond man had just come down to the platform, carrying a large suitcase. Severin gave a great wave of his hand, but Sebastian did not answer him. He had just turned again to the door of the wagon, to help down…

Richard frowned. He should have known Jim would never miss an opportunity to annoy his brother. Severin also seemed surprised and disconcerted by the appearance of the infamous consulting criminal. The latter had now gotten out of the train and was approaching with Sebastian. The sniper had a big smile on his face and waved his hand at his brother; Jim was wearing sunglasses, and Richard couldn't read his face.

The young man took a deep breath. There was no way he was going to let himself be overwhelmed by his brother's simple presence. Severin was there to support him, Jim had his own babysitter, and Richard was tired of getting stepped on by his own fears.

So, he let go of Severin's hand and walked towards the two newcomers with a smile on his face.

“Sebastian! It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, reaching his hand out to the tall blond.

The sniper was at least half a head taller than Severin, and Richard was already a dwarf compared to his boyfriend. But Sebastian's jovial smile and sparkling blue eyes counterbalanced the threatening impression he could sometimes give.

Sebastian handed Jim his suitcase to shake Richard's hand.

“Likewise. Severin has told me a lot about you, but it's still... strange to meet you for real.”

He turned to Jim, then returned to Richard.

“You’re really each other’s spitting image.”

Jim shook his head with a mocking smile on his face.

“You Morans really do have a type...”

“Oh, you can talk,” Sebastian replied in a falsely outraged tone. “You too, you both seem to have a thing for tall, muscular blonds...”

Richard heard Severin chuckling behind his back.

“Jim... it's been a long time,” he said, finally turning to his twin brother. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

The tone of his voice remained friendly, but it was very clear to Jim that it was only a mask, and that Richard was not happy to see him at all. If Severin and Sebastian had noticed the young man's hidden coldness, they did not show it.

“He forced me to come,” Jim replied, kicking a friendly elbow into Sebastian's ribs. “But I'm glad to see you. And above all, I am delighted that you have finally found someone!” he added, turning to Severin. “With a Moran, I have nothing to worry about for my brother.”

 _As if you had ever worried about me..._ Richard thought. But that was not true. Under his cruel and manipulative outside, Jim had always cared about his brother's protection, and Richard knew it. But it would have rather done without the protection of a man like Moriarty, which usually manifested itself through the mysterious disappearance of anyone who harmed Richard, the assignment of unofficial bodyguards, and almost constant monitoring of his movements.

Severin seemed to have read his mind, because he finally came to his rescue.

“Well, we're not going to stay all day on the station platform, are we?” he asked around.

Sebastian smiled at him.

“You're right. Let's go.”

They left the platform and headed for the station exit, Severin taking Jim's suitcase in one hand and Richard's hand in the other. Jim gave Sebastian a meaningful look, and the blond sighed before taking Jim’s hand as well.

It took them about an hour to go to Severin and Richard's apartment, drop off their things, get the place organized to welcome the surprise guest that was Jim, and finally get to the pub where the two hosts had planned to take their visitors. It was a large room with a terrace, overlooking a small square with a few patrons. Richard and Severin often went there and were well known by the staff. Their waiter, a tall man with long brown hair, was therefore surprised to discover the young man’s look-alike sitting at the same table.

“You never told us you had a brother, Richard,” he exclaimed when he came to take their orders.

“Never had the opportunity to talk about him,” replied the person, with a contrite smile.

The man smiled back at him and took their orders before leaving them.

“So,” Jim said once they were alone at their table, “tell me: how did you two meet?”

Richard sighed.

“You already know this very well, Mr. ‘I have eyes everywhere’.”

“My eyes in Fal Vale, in this case, are your boyfriend's beautiful blue eyes, and he didn't tell me anything.”

“Until a few months ago,” Severin protested, “I wasn't even aware that I was working for you.”

Sebastian raised his hands as a sign of appeasement.

“Come on, don’t start! And by the way, I'd like to know too. Severin didn't tell me anything either.”

Severin turned to Richard.

“All right, but then Rich is in charge. He's the one who knows how to tell stories.”

Richard smiled.

“Severin arrived in Fal Vale a little over a year ago. That day, we had all been informed by a note of the arrival of a new chief technician, but I didn't feel concerned. I’m a simple train driver, and I rarely work with technicians. But before the morning shifts began, he came into the break room introduce himself to everyone. No newcomer had ever done that, I thought it was nice of him. I also noticed that he was rather handsome... in a totally objective way and without any ulterior motives, of course,” he added, shooting a conniving look at his boyfriend, who had just elbowed him in the side. “He had this kind of aura, charisma... people went to him naturally, talked to him without fear. Being the antisocial that I am, I just said hello and welcomed him, I doubt he noticed me.”

“I noticed you especially because you stayed in your corner all the time…” Severin interrupted.

Richard's story was temporarily cut off by the arrival of the waiter who brought their orders. Richard and Severin thanked him. Sebastian took advantage of the intermission to take an insistent look across the square. A man was standing at the entrance of a shop, smoking a cigarette. He seemed to be staring at their table but looked away as soon as he saw the blond looking at him angrily. Jim, noticing the sniper's strange behaviour, gave him an interrogating look, but Sebastian did not answer him.

“Still, we didn't really talk to each other,” Richard eventually resumed. “But I ran into him regularly, on the platform, in the break room, during meal breaks... until the day he decided to come and see me, because it seemed like I was alone. And indeed, I was. Sometimes I had lunch with a friend, rarely several, and most of the time alone, and he must have noticed it. We talked about his relocation to Fal Vale, my life here, working at the station, and very quickly, I started to feel comfortable, to open up much more than I normally do. That's the effect Severin has on everyone. From then on, we started seeing each other more often, and a strong friendship developed between us... well, externally at least. Because I quickly realized that my feelings for Severin were far from platonic. And you know how it can be when you're gay, still in the closet, and in love with a man whom you’re supposed to be just friends with. I tried the good old-fashioned method of sending signals here and there, without being too visible, in case I was wrong... and it was difficult, because I was really afraid of losing Severin's friendship if he realized that I was in love with him. It's a terrifying feeling, being in love with someone who you know could turn against you at any time. You have centuries of stereotypes and prejudices playing against you. So, I just remained cautious. Caution is the story of my life: I spend my time keeping a low profile, trying not to make waves, not to be noticed. But everyone makes mistakes. Although, this time it was a good mistake. We were walking around in a park on the edge of town. The weather was fine, and we stopped on a bench to rest. We must have spent at least an hour like that, and... Severin was tired, so he put his head on my shoulder to sleep. I absolutely didn't expect that, Severin isn't the touchy type, but I really wasn't going to complain. And at that moment, with Severin beside me, his blond hair on my cheek, his breathing that made his head move on my shoulder... my mind stopped working properly. I was only thinking about him and how much I wanted to kiss him right there, right then. And so I did the stupidest thing in the world...”

“You kissed him?” Jim asked.

“No!” his brother shouted. “Do you think I'm that stupid? I just whispered ‘I love you’ into the wind. I was sure he was asleep and wouldn't hear me, but I immediately felt him tensing. That's when I thought I screwed up. He stood up and asked me what I had said, I told him, ‘Nothing’. He insisted, with a big smile on his face. But I started to panic, I was sure that if I told him about my feelings, he would laugh at me. So I got up, took my bag and ran out of the park. I didn't turn around when I heard him call me, I didn't turn around when I left the park, I didn't turn around before I got home. I already had three unread texts, but I didn't open them. I ignored all of Severin's calls during the evening, I was too afraid to hear what he had to say to me.  I tried to take my mind off it by watching movies until late at night, without much success. I couldn't think of anything other than my monstrous mistake. The next day, when I arrived at the station, I did everything I could to avoid him. But he finally found me, and I just couldn’t keep ignoring him when he was right next to me. So I plucked up my courage and tried to apologize for the previous day, in a very clumsy way... until he cut me off to ask me if it would bother me if he kissed me. Needless to say, at that moment, my brain more or less closed up shop. I only managed to stutter a pathetic ‘of course not’ before he leaned down and kissed me. From there on... we tried to learn how to behave like a normal couple and not a socially handicapped gay man and his overprotective boyfriend.”

Sebastian laughed.

“Overprotective... That’s totally you, Sev!”

“We hadn't been dating for two days and there were already rumors among all the technicians” Severin explained. “So I put an end to it by confirming them, and letting that bunch of idiots know that if anyone bothered Richard because he likes men, their faces would meet my very gay fist.”

Jim smiled.

“I’m glad to see that my brother's safety is in good hands.”

“Severin is my boyfriend, Jim,” Richard replied, “not my bodyguard.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Sebastian intervened.

“Well, what about you?” Severin asked his brother. “You've already told me how you met Jim, but never how you started dating!”

Sebastian explained how he had begun to have suspicions about his flatmate’s identity, and the resulting attempted near-murder. Richard could hardly understand how Sebastian could have persisted after that; however, he had a very good idea of how his brother had felt. Sebastian was a strange and unpredictable being, and Moriarty certainly saw him as a puzzle to solve. As for developing feelings for Sebastian... Jim was not known to give in easily to his heart, but the sniper seemed to have managed to knock down some of the criminal's defences. Richard knew his brother well, and as far as he could judge, his feelings for Sebastian were not faked. Severin, on the other hand, was impressed by his brother's perseverance, almost relentlessness, but by no means surprised: Sebastian had always been a stubborn man, and once he had an idea in mind, it was impossible to change his path. Unlike his brother, Sebastian had never been reluctant to flirt with men as well as women, while Severin had been slow to accept the fact that he was not strictly heterosexual, let alone that he was not a girl. As a result, Sebastian was more likely to go up to people, and not give up when someone resisted him.

The discussion drifted on to other topics, until dessert arrived and Severin asked for everyone's attention. He told his guests that the next day they’d go for a ride in an old steam train, one of the few attractions in the region. Sebastian was enthusiastic, but not as much as Jim, who seemed to be in heaven. Richard explained that his brother had always dreamed of working with trains, and that he still kept a touch of jealousy for his twin who had made it his profession.

“I'm absolutely not jealous,” Jim exclaimed with a laugh. “I have the best job in the world.”

“You kill people,” Richard recalled in a grim voice.

“Wrong. Sebastian kills people. I am the maestro. He is only a simple executor.”

Normally, Sebastian would have been quick to call his boss out about his real role in the Firm, but he was too busy staring at the man with the cigarette across the street. The man had stopped smoking but had not budged from his observation point for the entire meal, moving only to sit on a bench. Jim, on the other hand, pretended not to notice his companion's sudden obsession with this stranger.

When Richard got up to go to the toilet inside the restaurant, Sebastian stood up to follow him and pay for their drinks. Severin immediately protested, reminding him that he was a guest, and that he had to let the hosts handle this kind of detail. And he disappeared after Richard.

“So, what's the problem?” Jim enquired immediately as soon as they were alone.

“That man over there,” Sebastian replied, trying not to look at the man in question. “I know him. It's Chad Bramingston, he was part of the Vauxhall gang, we worked with them last winter.”

“The ones who tried to rip us off and you decimated?” the Irishman asked. “If you've done your job correctly, they shouldn't be a problem anymore.”

“Well, that's the point. The agents who handled this case reported to me that two members had escaped. Underlings, and Bramingston was not one of them, but obviously they were wrong.”

On the other side of the square, the person had stood up and started pacing, staring at his phone.

“Still alive, and very cross with you.”

“How long do you think it will take for Severin to come back?”

“I don't know... five minutes, probably. He tends to chat with the servers, and Richard will stay with him, but since they have guests...”

“Well, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go to the bathroom. When Richard and Severin come out, they'll want to go buy a fourth train ticket. Tell them to go right away while you wait for me. Then lure Bramingston into that alley over there. You can put him out of //harm's way, but he must be able to answer a few questions. Understood?”

“Understood, boss,” replied Sebastian with a grave look on his face.

Jim got up and made his way to the inside of the building, almost as Richard and Severin were passing the door. They didn't protest when Sebastian declined to follow them to the station, preferring to wait for his boyfriend.

“In that case, we'll meet you here in fifteen minutes?”

“That's perfect.”

“Do you think you can stay alone without doing anything stupid?” Richard joked.

Sebastian just nodded. _If only you knew_....

 

Once the other two had disappeared, he quickly went around the square, and approached Chad Bramingston while putting on a worried expression.

“Sir, excuse me,” he called out. “Could you help me? My friend is in the alley over there, he passed out... I need help carrying him to his car.”

The other one’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my God, you want me to call 999?”

Sebastian quickly shake his head.

“No, no. He just drank a little too much, but he's fine. I have to take him home...”

“I'm coming.”

He walked into the alleyway, the sniper on his heels. As he entered the dark alleyway, he frowned, confused.

“Where is... “

But he had no opportunity to say anything else. Moran immediately placed a handkerchief on his mouth, and held him against the brick wall, before putting on a pair of handcuffs with a firm hand. Then, maintaining with one hand the handkerchief on Chad's face, he pulled out the gun that never left his pocket with the other. The man looked at him with his panic-stricken eyes, trying to say something against the fabric.

“It's going to be very simple,” Sebastian explained. “For the moment, you keep quiet, you don't make a sound. No need to try and scream, I won’t hesitate to put a hole in your head at the slightest incident, and I have the means to get out of it without any problem. No one will come to help you. Then, when my boss arrives, if you're still alive, we'll ask you a few questions. It will be in your best interest to answer them quickly, clearly and without lying. Otherwise... Bang!”

Bramingston jumped, but he made no sound. His eyes only expressed pure terror.

It was only a minute before Moriarty's silhouette appeared at the entrance to the alley. He entered it with measured steps, approaching the cuffed man with a slight smile on his face. Sebastian stood up, but kept his gun still pointed at the silent prisoner's head.

Jim stopped half a meter away from the man lying prostrated on the ground.

“Hello, Chad. You remember me, don't you? What am I saying, of course you remember me. You wouldn't be here today if you didn't. “

“I don't...”

A kick in the ribs from Sebastian shut him up.

“Did I say you could talk? I'll let you know when it's your turn.”

Moriarty didn't look at his second. He squatted down in front of Chad, levelling his eyes with the prisoner.

“You should have died a long time ago. You were lucky that some of my men were incompetent... And you had to waste your luck trying to avenge your friends. Tut-tut-tut.”

Chad opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I only want to know one thing,” the consulting criminal continued: “how did you know I would be here today?”

The prisoner shot an interrogating, or rather begging look at Moran.

“You can talk,” the latter confirmed.

“Richard, I don't know what you're playing at, but you're mistaken,” he pleaded, turning to Moriarty again.

Sebastian kicked him again, which sent him rolling in pain in the dust.

“I told you, without lying,” said the sniper, unforgiving.

Jim's gaze hardened.

“So you know Richard's existence. This complicates everything, and it only makes things worse for you. You see, if someone comes after me, I can understand that. And sometimes even be tolerant.”

It was a lie, Sebastian knew it, but he didn't interrupt his boss.

“But attacking my brother,” the criminal continued, “is unforgivable. I was almost going to be lenient with you, but you leave me no choice. We're going to have to use extreme means. Sebastian,” he added, turning to his second, “call your brother, tell him that his little family reunion is over. We’re going back to London immediately... with a guest.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Severin's furious voice intervened from the entrance of the alley.

Jim turned around. Severin was marching towards them, but was quickly pushed aside by Richard who came running in.

“Jim, what the hell are you doing?” the young man vociferated, his expression torn between anger and panic.

Sebastian raised his left hand, the other still holding the gun pointed at Bramingston's head.

“Calm down, Richard. This matter concerns the Firm, I doubt you want to be involved.”

“Concerns the Firm? It's my baker you're threatening with your gun, for God's sake!”

“What??”

“He may look like your baker,” Jim intervened, “but this man is a member of a London gang. He tried to trick me, there were consequences, and now he's looking for revenge. You're lucky he didn't attack you, Richard.”

The man lying prostrated on the ground, the gangster or the baker, had not moved or made any sound, but was looking at the scene with a terrified expression. He was shaking. Severin squatted down in front of him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“That's Simons, the baker,” he announced to the two criminals. “He was already working here before I came to Fal Vale. If he wanted to attack Richie, he would have done so a long time ago. Mr. Simons,” he added, turning to the man, “I'm really sorry for what just happened. We'll fix the situation, I promise you.”

He helped him up, under the disapproving eyes of Jim and Sebastian, who didn't seem to want to swallow the story.

“In my defence,” Moriarty said, “it was Sebby who thought it was Bram-”

“You, shut up”, his brother cut him off by waving a raging finger under his nose. “Don't say another word. Isn't it enough for you to come here, meddle in our lives and attack everyone around us? Do you also have to try to convince us that nothing is your fault? James, you're a bastard, an utter fucking bastard, you...”

“Richard,” Severin interrupted him by placing one hand on his arm. “Understand them: they didn't know Simons, they thought he was a dangerous person. In his situation, your brother can't afford to take any risks.”

Sebastian started to unlock the baker's handcuffs.

“I am sincerely sorry,” he announced in a blank voice, “there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Can somebody at least explain to me what’s going on here?” the man asked in a trembling voice.

Jim crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the alley.

“A man who looks very much like you, and his associates, did business with me a while ago. They did not respect our agreements, and I made them understand their mistake. Unfortunately, some of them have escaped my vigilance, including Chad Bramingston, your look-alike. I couldn't afford to risk retaliation, especially with my brother around. Unfortunately, there was a mistake about the person...” he gave Sebastian an eloquent look, “and it seems you are harmless. Which is good news for you, believe me.”

“But who are you, for God’s sake?”

“That's none of your business,” the sniper intervened. “You know too much already. We shouldn't even let you leave like this...”

“Sebastian!” his brother groaned.

The challenged one rolled his eyes.

“Okay, forget I said anything.”

Richard approached Simons and shook his head.

“I am deeply sorry for my brother's behaviour. It goes without saying that I will offer you compensation for what you’ve been through. If you could in exchange keep these events to yourself...”

The man nodded his head without a word.

“As for the two of you,” Richard added, turning to Jim and Sebastian, “go home immediately. We're really gonna have to talk about this. You follow Severin to the apartment, and you are formally forbidden to assault anyone, even if they look like the brother-in-law of the grandson of a guy who stole a croissant from you when you were kids!”

The two criminals did not answer, only leaving the alleyway towards the square, a furious Severin on their heels.

oOoOoOo

“James. We have to talk. This can't go on any longer.”

The door slammed violently behind Richard as he entered the apartment in a gust of wind. Severin was sitting in an armchair, Jim had made himself comfortable on the couch, and Sebastian had been pacing around the living room since they arrived. He stopped when he saw Richard.

“Come on, Rich,” his twin replied in a smooth voice as he stood up. It's not like it's a habit, threatening your baker. No one is safe from making mistakes, not even me.”

“It came from a good intention,” Sebastian intervened.

Richard shook his head.

“But it is! It's a habit! Not just the baker, but all the people around me! You were planning to blackmail Severin into becoming my bodyguard! You threatened the director of my theatre group when you found out we weren't going to London! And all our classmates you terrified every time they said a word to me! It's worse than a habit, it's second nature to you!”

“Richard, those kids were bullying you. I was just trying to protect you, that's all.”

“Protect me?” the young man nearly choked. “Jim, you literally murdered Carl because he called me a faggot! It's not protection, it's not revenge, it's an outlet!”

“Carl was the worst of them all,” Jim replied in a grim voice. “He insulted you one too many times, he got what he deserved. And no one ever proved anything, they never traced it back to you, or me.”

“Do you want me to name every case, every story, every time you threatened, maimed or killed someone who hurt me? And the impact it had on my reputation, on me? Because we might be here for a long time, Jim.”

Sebastian took a look at his brother and sat in the next chair. If they were to stay here all night, they might as well not stand.

“I don't need your protection, or your revenge,” Richard continued. “Sure, when we were younger, I was the weaker of both of us, and I still am, but I am strong enough to defend myself alone, and lead my own life!”

“If I hadn't done everything I've done for you, Richard, you wouldn't be where you are today. You'd be a ruined, depressed, friendless comedian with a shattered self-confidence. The kids who were harassing you at school? I was the one who fought them. The university professors who judged you by your looks, your reputation? I was the one who pushed them to accept you. Your first promotions? Where do you think they came from?”

Richard's face was growing more desperate with each of James' words.

“That's exactly what I'm telling you,” he replied. “You interfere in my life, you change it so that it becomes what you think is good, without worrying about the opinion of the main person concerned. You don't know how I would have done without your help, Jim. Perhaps not as well as now, but surely well enough to be happy. And I wouldn't have to live with the constant fear that you come once again stick your nose into my business, direct my life for me and crush the world I created for myself. Do you know why I had so few friends at school? Because everyone was pointing at me and saying, he's Jim's brother, they're weird, all the people who come near them have accidents, I don't want to get involved in this. And our teachers were the same. Your reputation rubbed off on me, and the more you got involved in my life, the worse it got. And even now that I've gone to bury myself in the middle of nowhere, just to get away from you, even now you find a way to completely destroy my image. I can't even go to buy my bread anymore without the baker being afraid of me!”

Jim shook his head, looking sorry.

“Richard, Richard. I already told you it was an accident. And if it really was Bramingston, what would you have done? You’re my spitting image, he would have attacked you too.”

“I don't know what I would have done,” Richard replied. “Honestly, I don't know. But I'm not talking about today. Today, it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. What I'm talking about is your habit of interfering every time you think I'm going to have a problem. I'm grown up now, I can manage on my own, and whatever you may think, my solution will probably be better for me than yours. Apply your criminal logic to your own problems if you want, but let me live my normal little life alone. You've already destroyed it enough as it is.”

“I haven’t...”

“Yes! Yes, Jim! You know what my biggest fear is? I'm not afraid of your criminals. I'm not afraid of Bramingston, or the other gangsters who work with you. It's you I'm afraid of, Jim. Every time you threaten someone to protect me, I'm afraid it'll come back to me. Every time you kill someone in my name, I have their blood on my hands. Carl Powers? I killed him as much as you did. And it may not be rational, but that's how I work! That's how I think, that's how I react, and I can't help it! So I run away, every time, as far away from you and your schemes as possible, hoping that you won’t come and impose a little more of your crimes on me.”

The silence fell on the small room, a silence weighed down by the unspoken words retained for years, which now fell like a stormy rain. Jim and Richard stared each other down, blind to the rest of the world, while Sebastian and Severin's gazes alternated between the two enemy brothers.

“If I may,” the youngest of the Morans intervened, “without Jim, we wouldn’t have met.”

“You're not helping me here, Severin.”

He sank back into his seat.

“Sorry.”

“If I may also, Jim,” says Sebastian, “I think Richard is right. You're overdoing it. You're an expert on anonymity, there's no reason for anyone to trace anything back to your brother here in Cornwall. He's safe now. I understand you want to take care of him, but... let's just say you're not exactly a born protector. Quite the opposite.”

“Thank you for the support, Sebby...”

“You know what I mean. You have good intentions, but... your way of dealing with people is not really the best way. I mean, murdering a kid because he was harassing you?”

“He was ten years old. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Jim... at ten years old, you may have been a genius, but the other kids like me and that Carl, we were still at the age where stealing a nerd’s morning snack was the most fun activity possible. And that's not the point. It hurt Richard more than it helped him. And you're an idiot for not noticing it sooner.”

“You're lucky it's you who's saying this, Moran,” Jim grunted, “because anyone else calling me an idiot would learn politeness very quickly and painfully.”

Sebastian sighed.

“Exactly.  We don’t have any complaints about the way you treat people who are disrespectful to you,” Richard opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything, “but if they insult your brother... it's his problem, not yours.”

Jim looked up at people in the room. Then he got up and walked out slamming the door behind him.

Severin and Richard looked at each other, at loss for words.

“Don't worry. That's the closest you'll get to an apology from Jim. He doesn't know what to say anymore, because he knows you're right and he's too proud to apologize.”

“I can hear you!” came the criminal's muffled voice from the next room.

“Perfect,” Sebastian replied.

“He never did that with me,” Richard explained.

“What? With you, he really apologizes?”

The young man looked confused.

“Hum... no.”

“Ah. I didn't think I was receiving a special treatment...” Sebastian mused.

“You've been dating him for almost two years, and you're not dead yet. I’d call it special treatment.”

“You can't be serious?” Severin intervened.

Richard shook his head.

“No, I'm exaggerating. Let's just say he's not soft on his boyfriends. And he never, ever admits that he's wrong. Even if it's just by leaving the fight.”

Sebastian didn't answer, but just smiled. He knew his boss's proud and haughty nature, but he never imagined that he would change his behaviour for him. Knowing Jim, he considered it a great honour.

Jim came back into the living room almost an hour later. The three friends didn't stop talking until the criminal stood in the middle of the room.

Sebastian smiled and looked up at him.

“Are you done sulking, love?”

Jim looked at him and then turned to his twin.

“I've been thinking.”

“Well thank God...” Richard muttered, too low for anyone but Severin to hear.

“You don't want me to influence your life and your decisions. So be it. I won’t act in you place anymore. And since you insisted on it, I will no longer try to assign you bodyguards. But that means you won’t be under my protection anymore, or at least less than now.”

“You know very well what I think about your protection, Jim,” his brother replied, audibly this time.

“Yes, I know. But your protection and mine are closely linked, and you know it too. The people... in my surroundings, the few who know of your existence anyway, see you as a pressure point or a bargaining chip to reach me. Which is true. If I don't protect you for you - which, by the way, is what I've been doing until now - I have to do it for myself. No matter what happens, I must always monitor your situation.”

“My private life, you mean.”

“It depends on where you set the limits of privacy...”

“Limits that you absolutely do not respect.”

“True. There is a certain level of information I need to know, to protect both of us. The three of us, now that Severin is part of the family.”

“What about me, then?” Sebastian intervened, falsely outraged.

“Sebby, you are the second most dangerous man in London,” Jim replied without even looking at him, “I think you are big enough to protect yourself. Anyway, I'm going to keep an eye on Fal Vale, but without sticking my nose in your personal business. Does that arrangement sound reasonable to you?”

Richard stood up and looked his brother in the eyes.

“So you loosen your surveillance and stop making decisions for me, but I may be more exposed to the dangers that threaten the Firm. Personally, that's fine with me. I just have one more thing to add. If you have to make decisions about me for any reason, I want to be informed immediately.”

Jim hesitated for a moment.

“It seems... feasible to me.”

“Feasible? That's the most elementary courtesy!”

“I'm telling you, I will. Happy?”

Richard crossed his arms

“Satisfied. For happiness, we'll see later, alright?”

Jim finally dropped into the couch next to Sebastian.

Severin looked at them all, then stood up and clapped his hands.

“Okay. Do you mind if we change the atmosphere a little bit? I'm still waiting for my presents.”

oOoOoOo

Sebastian was staring at Jim. The latter had stopped reading, but had not said a word for a quarter of an hour, and was content to follow the landscape through the train window.

“Honestly,” said Seb after a while, “it wasn't that bad of a weekend, was it?”

Jim slowly turned his head towards him and gave him a long, disillusioned look.

“Are you talking about the time we kidnapped the baker? Or my brother's sudden rebellion? Or the steam train we almost derailed?”

“ _You_ almost derailed,” corrected Sebastian.

“In short. I don't think we have the same definition of a good weekend.”

Sebastian gave an understood smile.

“Admit it, you had a great time.”

Jim hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Maybe.”

“At least we managed to celebrate Severin's birthday. Which was the main purpose of the trip.”

“I still believe we should have given him a dog.”

“He’ll buy himself a dog,” Sebastian replied. “I've already given him the collar, that should motivate him. He's been talking to me about it for a year.”

“Thankfully, there is someone here who gave him something useful.”

Sebastian shook his head, amused.

“For the last time, Jim, a latest fashion smartphone is not useful to a railroad technician.”

“It's still more useful than a dog leash without a dog. Or a David Bowie album. Frankly, I don't understand what my brother sees in him. Mercury is much more interesting.”

“Another point on which you differ. You don't sound like twins to me.”

Jim sighed.

“We've always been like this. And I think our differences seem to both of us like a burden. I always thought that if people saw him as weak and fragile, they would think the same of me. And obviously, he's afraid that my reputation as a criminal will have an impact on him.”

“Which is going to be the case, now that we've terrorized his baker...”

“Not if we make him disappear.”

“Jim. We've already talked about this.”

“Yes, yes. Rich and Severin refuse to consider this solution. I was just kidding.”

Sebastian sat back into his seat with a smile.

“Back to normal life?”

Jim smiled at him.

“Planning burglaries, poisonings and disappearances? It'll always be calmer than a weekend at Fal Vale.”


	15. The game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 15, second to last part of this fanfiction. Welcome to the canon, aka the beginning of the end. I had a field day integrating my personal theories about the scenes of the series, because adding Moran everywhere in the canon is fun to do. Anyways, enjoy the chapter. Small but important note: I’m being mean to Molly in this chapter. That’s only because it’s from Jim and Seb’s point of view. If I could, I would drown Molly under a shower of love and rose petals.
> 
> As always, many thanks to my awesome betas, Finrod and Alexandra.
> 
> Don’t forget to leave a comment, it’s always nice and helps me improve my writing!Warnings: more or less the same as in the series.

 

Jim had been acting strange lately. Sebastian would have been unable to say how long it had been lasting, but he had begun to notice the change almost six months earlier. And although his companion had explained the situation to him, the sniper could not deny that something was wrong.

It was that damn detective's fault, of course.

When Jim first had first become interested in him, Sebastian immediately made the connection with the Ice Man. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Sherlock and Mycroft shared the same last name... and a completely crazy first name.

Jim had then explained everything to him: he wanted to get back at Mycroft, by attacking the person he loved most. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Sebastian had not protested: he had long been waiting for the opportunity to take revenge on Holmes and what he had done to him. And Jim's method seemed perfect to him: getting rid of the ridiculous little detective would teach his older brother a lesson.

No, what he had a problem with was not revenge as such, but Jim's enormous involvement. Since Sebastian knew him, he had always been very implicated in his little "projects", to a point that might have seemed obsessive to a normal person. But his interest in the detective exceeded even that. It gradually took up all the space in the criminal's activities, and all his free time seemed devoted to learning about him, following his career, his progress, the cases he solved...

Sebastian had started breathing again when Jim finally decided to act. At least he understood action, that was his field. Stalking the detective’s boring blog was of no interest to him. So he helped Jim in his little game of sponsoring the psychopathic taxi driver, and gently sent him on Sherlock Holmes’ trail. The whole thing didn't go exactly as Moriarty had planned, but it didn't change their plans: even if Holmes' new sidekick, Dr. Watson, hadn’t killed the driver, he had gotten caught in his own game and would have died anyway from the poison in his pills. The detail that most disturbed Sebastian was that the driver had spoken. Despite Moriarty's precautions, he had revealed his name.

The sniper had opened up to his boyfriend about it, and told him of his concerns, but Jim had replied that he intended to spread clues here and there to arouse Sherlock's interest anyway. The driver's mistake only slightly accelerated his plan. So, Sebastian had put the incident away in a corner of his mind and moved on.

Moving on had led him to this large dark room, lit only by a computer screen. Perfect for hiding while keeping your target in sight. People really never thought things through.

Holmes the Younger had once again thwarted the plans of one of Moriarty's clients - Sebastian suspected his boss of presenting only his most incompetent clients to the detective - and the criminal had therefore sent the sniper to get rid of the last member of the murderous acrobats. General Shan had just sat down at her desk, and was in great conversation with "M", her concerned face bathed in the blue light of the computer.

“Without you, without your assistance... we would not have found passage into London,” the woman muttered to her camera. “You have my thanks.”

No answer came to Sebastian's ears: ‘M’ only wrote his replies. Few of Moriarty's clients had any real contact with the consultant.

“We did not anticipate...” she continued, “we did not know this man would come - this Sherlock Holmes.”

She hesitated for a moment.

“And now your safety is compromised.”

Sebastian smiled in the darkness. Shan greatly underestimated the security measures taken by the Firm, if she thought that this small incident constituted a breach.

Only the computer's weak beep replied.

“I will not reveal your identity.”

New beep. Then a whisper rose in Sebastian's earpiece:

“ _Now._ ”

Taking a deep breath, he positioned his rifle and turned on the laser sight, put his finger on the trigger, and fired.

The blow rang deep into the depths of the empty house, but no one was there to hear it.

Certain that now no one was there to see him, he walked towards the circle of light surrounding the new corpse and approached the computer. Jim's last messages were displayed on the screen in a bright light that attacked his eyes.

_They can't trace it back to me._

Sebastian smiled. At least Jim was being careful. The detective may know his name, but he wouldn't find them if Moriarty didn't decide to let him. He closed the computer, put it in his bag, and satisfied, slowly walked back.

oOoOoOo

“Jim! I'm home!”

Sebastian closed the apartment door behind him. It was a strange feeling, to be in the same situation as the very beginning, he had the distressing impression that he had regressed, as if their relationship was going to move in the other direction and that he was going to end up alone again. He was in a small apartment, not the same as the one he had once shared with Jim, but similar. Moriarty had insisted: his cover had to be perfect. He had taken again the identity of James Brook, IT specialist at St. Bart’s Hospital, and insisted that Sebastian accompany him - he would be lost without his bodyguard.

Not that lost, apparently...

As he walked into the small, narrow living room, he discovered the silhouette of his boyfriend, sitting on the couch with a young woman wearing a ponytail and colourful clothes. And – horror! – her head was resting nonchalantly on Jim's shoulder. Sebastian had to keep himself from grabbing her by the hair and violently throwing her out. Jim belonged to him. No one else could touch him.

More than the apartment and the job at the hospital, the reason he felt Jim slipping away from him had a name: Molly Hooper.

Jim had warned him of his plan, and Sebastian had not dared to oppose it. It wasn't important, he thought. To get close to Sherlock, Jim had to seduce Molly first, and Sebastian knew that it was just another game, another masquerade, another costume that Jim was wearing to achieve his goal. He could well endure the presence of a woman in their lives for a few days, a few weeks. He knew his boyfriend wasn't going to abandon him. But seeing him in that woman's arms made him more violent than ever.

When Jim heard him come in, he turned around on the couch. He immediately noticed Sebastian's angry pout, and his eyes threw daggers at him before taking up a more affable expression and turning to the young woman.

“Molly,” he said in a soft voice that sounded nothing like him, “this is Sebastian, the friend I told you about!”

Friend. The word sounded like a gunshot to his ears. He forced himself to stretch his lips into a fake smile.

The young woman turned to Sebastian and gave him a shy smile, contradicted by a somewhat worried look – apparently, he must not have smiled convincingly. Too bad.

“So you're Jim's roommate,” she said with a cheerful voice. “He's told me a lot about you.”

Sebastian gave the young man an inquisitive look, but Jim’s expression remained unreadable.

“Good things, I hope?" the blond asked.

Molly hesitated a second too long before answering:

“Yes, of course.”

She eventually got up off the couch and turned to her colleague - Sebastian refused to describe their relationship in any other way.

“Sorry, Jim, it's time for me to go. It was very nice, thank you!”

He smiled.

“It was my pleasure. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course! See you next time, Sebastian!” she said as she passed in front of the blond to get to the entrance.

_Not if I can avoid it_ , he thought, smiling without conviction.

He waited for the front door to slam before grabbing Jim over the couch backrest and pulling him up towards him. Jim stood up to reach his lips, and assured him by every means other than speech that he still belonged to him.

Sebastian only released him a minute later, and both were out of breath.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” Jim said. “I forgot how bad girls are at kissing...”

Sebastian smiles.

“I could contradict you, but frankly you didn't choose the best one.”

“It's okay, she’s bearable,” Jim replied with a pout. “Surprisingly, I appreciate spending time with her. On the physical level, however....”

Sebastian's hand, still resting on his boyfriend's shoulder, tightened in a threatening way.

“What exactly did you two do together?”

Jim gave him a teasing look.

“Are you jealous, Tiger?”

“Of a woman? Hardly. But I just want to know how much I should hurt her once this is over.”

“You won't touch her, Sebastian,” Jim replied in an irrevocable tone. “She's not important, I don't want to waste our strength on a detail like that. And I only kissed her.”

“With the tongue?”

“Do you want me to give you a demonstration, maybe?”

“With pleasure.”

Jim slowly began to move his lips against the sniper’s, and Sebastian did not respond at first, but when the young man began to slip his tongue into his lover's half-open mouth and pull him against his chest, Sebastian did not resist and followed the movement, falling astride Jim on the sofa. Being pinned between the furniture and Sebastian didn't seem to bother him the slightest, and he started grabbing at the sniper's clothes to pull him even closer to him, if that were possible. The elder's hands encircled his head as he explored the lips and mouth of the criminal. God, he had missed Jim...

“I honestly hope you didn't do that with her,” the blond whispered in a hoarse voice as they parted for a moment.

“Are you kidding? She would have run away.”

He came back to attack the sniper's lips and slipped his hands behind his back.

“Shan is out of the equation," the blond murmured between two kisses.

“Good job, Tiger,” Jim smiled.

It took a while longer, which they both enjoyed as much as they could, before Sebastian could speak again.

“That means we're taking the next step, doesn't it?”

“Yes.”

“I can't wait for this to end. And to be rid of that bloody detective.”

Jim did not answer; his companion took his silence for acquiescence.

oOoOoOo

Two chairs are placed around a table, and the players sit and face each other. In the dark, there is no way to see their faces; one knows the other perfectly, the other can only try to guess the features of the former. The cards are shuffled, dealt. There is no doubt that the game is not fair. That was never the point. The goal is always to crush your opponent. He raises his eyes and looks through the darkness, plunging into the impossible pools of blue that face him, squinting, unable to discern his man in front of them. He smiles.

Jim opened his eyes and the vision faded. In its place were two computer screens, showing him messages, a map, a blog, videos from several surveillance cameras. A much more interesting game. And just as unbalanced.

He held a microphone up his lips.

“Everything’s in place?” he asked in a confident voice.

“ _Yes, sir_ ," replied a voice from the computer. “ _I have him in my sights. And I have a scarf and some food. Seriously, you’re gonna leave me here for 12 hours?_ ”

Jim's smile spread.

“You're the man I trust most, Sebby. But it won't take him twelve hours. If necessary, I'll send someone to relieve you.”

He didn’t give Sebastian time to protest and cut off communication to concentrate on the other information provided by his screens.

The explosion he had orchestrated at 220 Baker Street hadn’t caused too much damage to Sherlock's apartment - just enough to make him realize that he wasn’t safe. As he had planned. What he hadn’t planned was Mycroft's visit to 221B about a boring case concerning secret missile plans. In any other circumstance, Moriarty would have been interested in the subject, and would have grabbed the plans in no time at all - greasing paws was the easiest activity in the business - but today this detail was of very little interest. And it seemed like Sherlock had the same opinion.

It only took a few minutes after the Ice Man's departure for the detective's mobile phone to ring. Scotland Yard had apparently found the safe in the pulverized building. Jim's heartbeat accelerated imperceptibly. Finally, the game was really starting....

He waited again for Sherlock to leave 221B and then reappear on Scotland Yard's surveillance cameras, then took possession of an envelope. He observed with satisfaction as the detective carefully analysed the paper, the handwriting, all the little misleading details scattered by Jim to complicate his task. Having too many clues never helps to bring forth an investigation. He waited for Sherlock to finally open the envelope and discover the pink phone - it had not been difficult to get an exact copy of the cabbie’s victim's phone - and finally, when he turned the device on, Jim finally pressed a button on his computer.

_Ding!_

The noise emitted by Moriarty's screen mimicked the inaudible one that had just risen from the phone. He observed with increasing expectation the emotions that were battling on the pixelated face of the detective. He was beginning to understand.

Waiting, again. Jim barely noticed his own heartbeat, which was getting faster and faster. When Sherlock, John and the policeman named Lestrade finally appeared in the camera’s sight, Jim placed his hands over the keyboard, and pressed a command button. A sound began to rise from the computer - muffled sobs. He started typing.

_It's showtime!_

The sobs intensified when the hostage realized that her captor was talking to her.

_Turn on the phone and call the last number._

_From now on, read aloud everything I send you._

_If you change a single word...._

_BOOM!_

Only a terrified sob answered him, and he smiled, satisfied. A tone sounded. The woman had just dialed the number of the pink phone.

Jim took a deep breath before he typed:

_Hello, Sexy...._

oOoOoOo

 

Jim was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling without seeing it, with a slight smile on his face. He had noticed that he was smiling more than usual lately. Oh, nothing particularly remarkable, and he always smiled when he wanted to scare someone, or charm Sebastian. But more often than before, he wanted to smile. His plan was working perfectly, and Sherlock was already caught in his web. There was no way the detective could escape him now. A puzzle of diabolical complexity attracted him more surely than a lamp attracts flies. And captured him as surely. His revenge was taking shape. And apparently, his target had noticed it. Jim had quickly understood why Holmes was harassing his precious little brother with his secret plans: he was trying by all means to keep him away from Moriarty's influence. A lost cause: Mycroft just had to be the one presenting it for any case to lose its interest in the eyes of the presumptuous detective.

The sound of a slamming door drew him from his thoughts, but he did not leave the bed. With any luck, it might give Sebastian some ideas...

“Jim?” the sniper called from the living room. “I was expecting to find you at headquarters, but Dekker told me you had left. Wait, what the hell...”

He stopped and shot his companion a surprised look. The latter followed his gaze and contemplated his outfit. Ah, yes....

“I forgot to change after my time in St. Bart’s.”

“You seriously went there in this outfit?” Sebastian asked with a smile, before leaning against the doorframe.

He looked at Jim in detail, stopping in turn on the pants - much too tight for him to keep his cool, the t-shirt with a provoking neckline, and... had he really dared to let fluorescent green underwear stick out of his pants?

“It was necessary,” Jim replied as he stood up on his elbows. “I mean, no, not really, but you should have seen Molly's face when Sherlock told her I was gay. It was amazing.”

“I can imagine it. ...Are those my dog tags you’re wearing?”

Jim stroked the chain that disappeared under his shirt in a distracted gesture and smiled - again.

“I wondered where they were,” Sebastian reproached him.

A tone rang, and Jim jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed. His companion gave him an interrogating look as he grabbed his laptop on the bedside table, opened it and typed it for a moment. His smile grew harder when he read the words on the screen.

“He’s found it.”

Sebastian came closer and was now bending over his shoulder to read.

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221B Baker Street._

Sebastian frowned and grabbed the criminal's arm.

“Did you tell him? Did you tell him you killed Carl?”

Jim pulled himself out of the sniper's grip and got up.

“Of course not, it wouldn't have any interest.”

“But you made him guess! Oh my God, Jim, did you give him the kid's shoes? What the hell were you thinking?”

“It's a game, Bastian. A puzzle, a treasure hunt. Nothing serious.”

“He's gathering information about you! It was your first murder, he's going to end up connecting the dots sooner or later!”

Jim understood the sniper's anguish, but it seemed ridiculous to him. There was no way Sherlock would discover anything without Jim giving him the ability to do so. But he had to reassure his companion.

“It was his too.”

Sebastian marked a time of hesitation.

“Excuse me?”

“His first murder,” Jim explained. “The first one he investigated. I needed something that would catch his attention. Sherlock doesn't know anything anyway. He doesn't know the most important thing, why Carl died. Richard can rest assured.”

He turned to Sebastian and looked into his eyes.

“Sebastian, it doesn't matter if Sherlock knows who I am or not today. He'll find out eventually. I don't intend to kill him until he knows exactly who made him dance all this time.”

He did not specify that he would kill him much later than that. For Sebastian, the whole story had to end once this little puzzle game was over. Jim was going to wait a little longer before revealing to the sniper that what he had planned for the Holmes brothers went much farther than a simple game of charades.

 

oOoOoOo

 

Sebastian was fulminating. He felt out of control, and the feeling was getting worse with each passing hour.  Thinking that the days of living with “Jim from IT” were over and that he would never see Molly Hooper again were no comfort. Jim... Jim was only interested in the game, only in Sherlock. Worse, he was _flirting_ with the detective. The criminal had always been like that, but since he was with Sebastian, he had been skirt-chasing – or rather pants-chasing - less. Either he took his boyfriend's feelings into consideration, or it just didn't interest him anymore - which Sebastian was hoping for wholeheartedly. But now he was doing it again, with less restraint than he had ever had. Sebastian also hated Jim's idea of handing his crimes over to Holmes, crumb after crumb. He was losing clients, money, parts of his empire - small, but still real - to attract the young detective into his game. Sebastian kept telling himself that all this was part of his revenge against the Ice Man, but it didn't calm him at all. If he could have strangled the man himself with his own hands, he would have been happy to do so. But he had to comply with Jim's plan. That's why Sebastian was sitting there, in that empty, cold room, pointing the laser sight of his rifle at the explosive-riddled chest of a ninety-something year-old, an earpiece stuck in his ear. He had already been watching the old woman for six hours, but the wait was over: Sherlock had passed this new test, and the frightened voice of the retiree was now pouring into his ears.

“Help me,” she moaned into the phone.

The detective's despised voice replied.

“Tell us where you are… address!”

Sebastian looked up. His trigger was itching. But it was almost over, another minute and he could leave this place, go find Jim...

The old woman's trembling voice rose again. The terror in her tone had dissipated.

“He was so... His voice... He sounded so”

Sebastian sat up like a spring. Jim had been clear: if one of the hostages gave Sherlock any information about their torturer, he would be given the order to eliminate them.

“No! Tell me nothing about him! Nothing!”

The detective's panicked voice indicated that he too had understood the implication of the woman's words.

“He sounded... so... soft...”

To hell with Jim's orders. Sebastian would do what was planned, no questions asked. With a sharp gesture, he pulled the trigger.

“ _Shoot_ ,” whispered a voice, so soft, in his ear.

By the time Jim said the fateful word, the building across the street was already exploding into a myriad of pieces of debris. Sebastian had no remorse for its inhabitants. It was their fault for living in a building that James Moriarty had decided to blow up.

oOoOoOo

Another gun, another laser, another target. But Sebastian didn't want to think about it. This time, the stakes were much higher.

Jim was there.

The sniper tried not to think about the last time this had happened - the last time he thought he was going to kill the only person in the world he loved. How the tables had turned... Today he was trying to protect that same man. In truth, he had never stopped trying to protect him.

Focus.

This pool was the one in which he had killed Carl, Jim had explained to him. The symbolism was strong, Sebastian hadn't expected Sherlock Holmes to pull a trick like that. He was getting too close to Jim, and Sebastian despised him more and more. He really had to watch this man.

Focus.

But Jim wasn’t making it easy for him. Even in normal times, his boyfriend's behaviour made him lose his cool, but when he was making such a show of himself... it was a good thing that he was turning his back to the sniper. The fact that he had been openly flirting with Sherlock since he entered the pool did nothing to help the crowd of feelings that were jostling in the sniper's head. But he couldn't think about it, he mustn’t...

“ _Watson!_ ” a panicked voice suddenly shouted in his earpiece.

Sebastian's heart jumped in his chest when he saw the doctor throw himself at Moriarty. The warning, which was completely unnecessary, came from one of the snipers on the criminal's security team.

“I'll take care of it,” Sebastian muttered, feverishly fiddling with his rifle.

He watched with the greatest attention the scene unfolding before his eyes.

“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty,” said the doctor in a barely shaking voice in the religious silence of the pool, “then we both go up.”

Sebastian shook his head. Once again, people underestimated Moriarty. ##

“Isn’t he sweet?” the criminal remarked in a joyful voice, apparently disregarding the bomb-man who was clinging to him. “I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets.”

In his hiding place, Sebastian almost choked. What was the matter with him all of a sudden? He almost deserved the sniper to leave him in his mess. But despite his murderous thoughts, Sebastian was unable to consider for more than one second abandoning Jim to Watson's explosives. With extreme caution, he pointed the scope of his weapon to the detective's chest.

“So touchingly loyal. But - oops... You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson. Gotcha...” Moriarty said joyfully in a sing-song voice.

_I got him_ , Sebastian thought, _but it doesn't matter_. He allowed himself to smile when he saw Watson slowly stepping away from the criminal.

“Westwood...” Jim said as he smoothed his suit.

Sebastian's smile spread a little more. If only he could stop flirting....

“D’you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock?” Jim continued in the same tone. “To you?”

The detective grinned.

“Oh, let me guess. I get killed.”

Sebastian could only imagine the grimace that was distorting Jim's face.

“Killed? Nah, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, someday. Don't want to rush it though, I'm saving it for something special.”

The sentence had the effect of a punch to Sebastian's chest. The plan had never been to kill Sherlock, Jim and his twisted mind had designed something much longer, much more complex, and much more perverse. He should have known, he scolded himself. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Jim always kept his promises.

“No,” Jim continued, "no, no, no, no. If you don’t stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn… the heart… out of you.”

The effect that this simple sentence had on Sebastian should not have been legal. After all, maybe that's why Jim was a criminal.

Focus...

Holmes' words, sarcastic to no end, were enough to bring him back to reality.

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

“But we both know that's not quite true...”

It was a good thing that Sebastian couldn't see Jim's face, because bodyguard or not, he probably would have put a bullet between his eyes.

The criminal glanced right and left before shrugging.

“Well, I’d better be off. So nice to have a proper chat.”

“What if I were to shoot you now? Right now?”

Sebastian's heart leapt in his chest. Sherlock still had his gun pointed straight at Jim. He wouldn't dare...

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face,” Jim answered without hesitation, “because I would be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed. And of course, you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long...”

Sebastian's shoulders relaxed, imperceptibly. Holmes got the message.

Jim walked away waving his hand towards Sherlock in a joyful greeting.

“Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Catch… you... later...”

“No, you won't!”

And he disappeared behind the door.

 

Sebastian immediately took a step back away from his weapon and pressed his earpiece.

“Boss? What was that?” he scolded in a low voice, so that he wouldn't be heard down in the pool.

“ _Sebby, Sebby, Sebby_ ,” said Jim's slightly disappointed voice in his ear. “ _I'm sorry, but I knew you'd get mad. I wanted to keep it as a... little surprise._ ”

Sebastian shrugged, trying to get rid of the persistent impression that Jim didn't trust him.

“Okay. And what does that mean?”

_BONK!_

The sniper frowned.

“Jim?”

“ _Sorry, it's dark as a dungeon in here_ ,” his boyfriend's voice came. “ _At least they could have installed motion detectors..._ ”

“You could have brought a flashlight, you know...” Sebastian muttered, exasperated.

“ _And ruin the line of my suit? You're crazy!_ ”

Sebastian ran a tired hand across his face.

“Alright. We'll talk about it later. Just get out of that haunted pool without getting crushed by a float, a diving board or whatever.”

He temporarily turned his attention to the two men below. Jim had ordered the snipers not to leave the premises until Sherlock and John had left. The detective had just undone his friend's explosive jacket and thrown it away. A whole shipment of wasted explosives, Sebastian thought with a grin. What a pity...

“ _Sebastian_ ,” the voice came back into his earpiece.

He frowned. Jim didn't seem to be doing well.

“What's going on?”

“… _I have a little problem_.”

Sebastian waited anxiously for him to elaborate. A few seconds went by in silence before Jim declared, mortified:

“ _I took the wrong door_.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“ _I took the wrong door, Sebastian. It was the locker room. It takes me right back to the pool._ ”

Sebastian's palm crashing on his face made almost enough noise for Holmes and Watson to hear it.

“Dear God, Jim,” he muttered, the sounds muffled by his hand. “I can't take your bullshit anymore.”

“ _Save your comments for later_ ,” the criminal replied, “ _and just get me out of here, Mr. The Director of the Bodyguards_.”

Sebastian twisted his hands for a moment, his mind spinning at full speed.

“Are you back at the same door?”

“ _No, it's another one, but it also leads to the pool. I can hear Sherl and his boyfriend hitting on each other, it's disgusting._ ”

“Okay. You're gonna come out of there and tell them you changed your mind.”

“ _About what?_ ”

“Sherlock's survival.”

The irritation was obvious in Jim's voice.

“ _Sebastian, didn't you understand anything? I don't want to kill him now! The plan is not complete!_ ”

The sniper ran a weary hand on his face again.

“Look, what's more important to you: Sherlock's life, or your ego?”

Jim hesitated for only a short moment before answering:

“ _You know me too well_.”

Jim cut off the communication. Sebastian leaned over his weapon and pointed his laser at the two men again. It only took a few seconds for Moriarty's sing-song voice to resonate throughout the pool, reflected by the high walls and calm water:

“Sorry, boys, I'm sooooo changeable! It is a weakness, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his boss' frail and confident figure emerging into the light. Once again, the drama queen saves the show. The other snipers had followed the movement, and a dozen red dots were shaking all over John and Sherlock's bodies - and on the wall several meters away, the head sniper observed with a desperate sigh. What did Jim expect to do with a bunch of lame ducks like those...

“You can’t be allowed to continue,” continued the criminal. “You just can’t. I'd try to convince you, but... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!”

A deathly silence reigned in the vast humid room. Sebastian was holding his breath while waiting for Moriarty's order. What he didn't expect at all, however, was for Holmes to lower his weapon and point it at Watson's coat, which was still full of explosives.

“Then possibly my answer has crossed yours.”

Sebastian's blood froze in his veins. He had considered every eventuality in this meeting, but he never thought it would come to this. Holmes had nothing more to lose, and if he fired, everyone in the pool would explode with him.

The sniper took a deep breath and took his phone out of his pocket. This was not the first time Jim had been in this kind of situation, even though the danger had never reached this level. It was up to him to invent something to get his boss out of there alive. He dialled Jim's phone number with a feverish hand and carried the device to his ear.

In the great silent room suddenly rose the joyful and completely misplaced music of _Stayin' Alive_ by the Bee Gees. The look on Sherlock's face was priceless.

Moriarty sighed deeply.

“D’you mind if I get that?" he asked the detective.

“No, no, please," replied the latter with exaggerated politeness. “You’ve got the rest of your life.”

Jim finally grabbed the phone and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“ _Is this a bad time to call you, boss?_ ”

“Yes, of course it is, what do you want?”

“ _To get you out of here alive. Listen to me carefully. You're on the phone with a client. He gives you information, you change your mind about Sherlock, he comes out of here in one piece, you too, and everyone's happy_.”

There was a moment of silence before Jim's enraged voice echoed in the pool.

“SAY THAT AGAIN!”

The violence in the criminal's voice made Sebastian jump, even though he knew he was only playing a role.

“Say that again," he repeated more calmly, "and know that if you are lying to me, I will find you, and I will skiiiiiiiiin you. WAIT!”

Hidden in the stands, Sebastian shivered. Jim had already made that kind of threat to him a long time ago. He had forgotten how scary the man he loved could be.

“Sorry...” said the dragging voice of the criminal. “Wrong day to die...”

“Oh. Did you get a better offer?”

Jim did not deign to answer, and slowly made his way towards the exit. Sebastian allowed himself to breathe.

“You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," Jim exclaimed from the door.

He carried his phone back to his ear.

“So, if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don’t, I'll make you into shoes.”

Sebastian smiled at the threat. Jim didn't like to hide his warnings, he preferred to let his interlocutors know exactly what to expect. Sebastian agreed: Jim had an overflowing imagination.

Jim snapped his fingers, and finally disappeared through the door through which he had first entered.

Sebastian stuffed his phone in his pocket and got up, leaving his rifle behind him. Then he pressed on his earpiece while walking towards the exit of the stands.

“Everybody, stay at your posts. Nobody moves until Holmes and Watson leave the building. I'll take care of the boss. Dekker, take my rifle with you before you leave.”

He walked away through the corridors towards the exit and started running as soon as he was sure he was out of reach of the detective's ears. He arrived outside just as Jim was walking through the door. The criminal stopped when he saw him and smiled.

“Well done, Tiger,” he said as Sebastian approached. “I was right to give you the command of this operation.”

“Without me, you'd have died a dozen times since we met.”

“I've already congratulated you, Sebby, don't exaggerate.”

Sebastian grabbed the criminal's hand and intertwined their fingers, before heading towards the tinted windowed car that was parked further down the street.

“The only thing that frustrates me here,” he said, “is that Holmes is getting out alive.”

Jim shook his head.

“This whole thing was just an appetizer, Sebastian. I promised you I'd destroy Mycroft. Simply killing his brother is far from enough.”

He squeezed the sniper's hand harder.

“He can't expect me to be magnanimous when he dares to lay his hand on you.”

Sebastian let a smile spread on his face. The Jim he loved had returned: dangerous, terrifying, protective, and entirely his.

 


	16. Until death do us part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last of the fanfic. It will logically be about Reichenbach. I won’t say more, because I don’t want to spoil it.
> 
> After this chapter, I’m posting a thank-you note to specific people. Read it if you like. In any case, I want to thank everyone who read this fic, I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> All that being said, enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Warnings: more or less the same as The Reichenbach Fall. Specifically: torture, suicide.

 

Suffocating darkness and cold of an empty room eyes closed so tightly closed to not let out the tears the emotions they must not know I must hold on a little longer....

_Shlack!_

Cold and bright light attacking the eyes for a second intense pain that slashes through the wounded flesh pain agony that never seems to stop how long it will go on....

_“Tell me the code.”_

Do not speak do not tell them silence hold on I must hold on for him despite the suffering I promised I will not let go I will never let go I can only deceive them they will not know even if the pain is so strong do not speak....

_“Stop smiling. If you don't give us the code...”_

The pain will not stop I know but I smile anyway you don't know anything and I will defeat you that's why I hold on I promised him I must be strong not feel the pain not react not talk not give in....

_And Moriarty sinks into darkness._

 

oOoOoOo

 

Sebastian knew that night that something was not right. It was a feeling deep within his insides, a visceral instinct like the one he used to feel at the front, the kind of knowledge that could not be explained but he could not be rid of either. It was a kind of tingle in the palms, or a knot in the stomach; that feeling that the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, that passers-by had a strange look or that the birds were singing off key. An impression that he would be crazy to ignore.

However, there was nothing concrete to indicate a problem. He had just returned from two weeks of mission in Eastern Europe, a complex and exhausting job, but Jim had insisted that he do it himself. It was rare for Moriarty to send his second on a mission so far from London, but it wasn't the first time. The sniper was relieved to finally come home and join his boyfriend; staying away from Jim for a long time always gave him a bad feeling, which he usually blamed on his bodyguard instinct. He felt that without him, Jim was in constant danger - which was not true, of course, but Sebastian couldn't help but imagine worst-case scenarios. So, he put the feeling away in a corner of his mind, and happily took the path to Conduit Street.

As he pushed the door of their apartment, the feeling intensified.

Sebastian dropped his bag in the hallway and immediately headed for the living room. At first glance, he thought his boyfriend was absent, before he saw his figure sitting on the floor, resting against the back of the couch. The sniper's stomach instantly sank, and he rushed towards him.

“Jim! What is …”

The young man looked up at him, and Sebastian froze.

Jim's face was swollen and distorted, his skin ranging from pale pink to purplish almost blue. Dried blood crust remained on his skin despite an obvious attempt to clean up the damage. His lips were purple and bloated. But what struck Sebastian most was his eyes. He had never seen in Jim's eyes such relief, as if seeing his companion had taken all the weight of the world off his shoulders.

“Finally...” he whispered as he set his broken gaze on Sebastian's eyes. He tried a smile, which quickly turned into a grimace of pain.

“Aaah!”

“Jim, dear God, what the hell happened to you?”

Sebastian couldn't stop his voice from trembling slightly. He approached a shaking hand to the young man's wounds, not daring to touch them.

Jim did not answer the question.

“Help me...”

The pain was still visible on his face, a mirror of the horror that was appearing on Sebastian's face. The sniper took his boyfriend's frail body in his arms, lifting him up trying to squeeze him as little as possible, and ignored his grunts of pain. He supported his weight and helped him to the bathroom, where he made him sit on the floor again.

“Jim, how long have you been like this?”

“Yesterday... They released me yesterday.”

Sebastian hardly refrained from asking who ‘they’ were. He knew that once he had that information, he would be unable to contain his anger and thirst for revenge, but for now he had to take care of Jim. That was his priority, the rest could wait.

“Have you been in this state the whole time?” he asked instead, while cleaning the youngest's wounds.

“I tried... to take care of myself. Alone.”

Sebastian squeezed his lips. Jim had spent more than twenty-four hours in this state with no one to tend to his wounds. He hadn't called him, hadn’t asked him for help. If he had known something was wrong, Sebastian would have immediately abandoned the mission and returned to London in less time than it takes to say ‘bang’. He could have come back... no, he should have stayed here, should never have left Jim, not for a second. He knew that Moriarty lead a dangerous life, that he needed protection, and that he, Sebastian, was the best protection he could have. Which, given the current situation, was not sufficient protection.

“No one could to see me like this.”

Sebastian sighed and looked up at his companion.

“Your health is much more important than your reputation, Jim!”

Jim laughed, but the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit.

“You never thought that for you. Never... Your health. Never more important than me. “

“It's different. I'm your bodyguard, for God's sake, I'm supposed to protect you. Your safety is more important than mine. And look at you...”

“It was necessary.”

Sebastian's heart tightened even more, if that were possible. He knew that Jim could go to unthinkable extremes to achieve a goal, but nothing in the world should require such violence. In silence, he finished tending to his companion's wounds. Asking him about what had happened would be pointless right now, Jim was in no condition to have a proper conversation. Sebastian could only help him recover from his injuries, and champ at the bit in the meantime.

Jim, however, did not seem to agree with him.

“Sebastian,” he whispered as the sniper took him in his arms to bring him back into the living room. “I understand you.”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Stop talking, Jim, you need to rest.”

“I understand you now,” Jim continued, ignoring him. “The ordeal... the pain...”

The sniper put him on the couch and squatted down in front of him.

“Jim, you're talking nonsense. You're exhausted.”

Jim shook his head vehemently. His eyes were bright with fever.

“It's thanks to you that I held on, Bastian. For you. I understand now, the fear, the beatings, the pain, always the pain. You were so strong.”

Sebastian was silent, unable to say a word now, while Jim's words gradually imposed their meaning on his mind. He never spoke that much, never opened himself up so, unless all his barriers had been broken down.

“I almost lost, Bastian,” he continued, “almost lost, they tried to break me, but I didn't talk! I didn't tell them anything! Days and days and days, but I didn't give them anything! Nothing of what they wanted!”

“Jim...”

Tears were streaming down the sniper's face, but he paid no attention to them.

“I stayed strong for you. You kept silent to protect me, so I had to do the same thing.”

Jim leaned over to Sebastian and took his face in his hands.

“I've never been so close to understanding you.”

Sebastian kissed Jim gently, taking every precaution as not to hurt him. The kiss tasted like blood, and tears.

He then forced the young man to lie down, then got up and let him sleep. There was only one thought left that now resonated in his skull with the strength and certainty of a death toll.

_He'll pay._

oOoOoOo

 

It took Jim time to recover from the _incident_ , as he and Sebastian called it. It took even longer before all traces of the violence he had suffered were erased - apart from a few fine scars he covered with Westwood or Prada to hide them. And it would take even more time - and blood - for Sebastian to forget about event, if he were ever able to do so.

Jim eventually explained exactly what had happened: Holmes took advantage of the absence of his bodyguard to capture Moriarty by organizing a fake meeting with a client. The MI6 had tried to get information from Jim about his network, but quickly realized that just like with Sebastian, it would be impossible to get anything from him through pain. Jim had eventually managed to get information about Holmes' younger brother in exchange for a lie about a powerful computer code. In any case, Sebastian hoped with all his heart that it was a lie; knowing Jim, anything was possible.

Anyway, Sebastian was now as determined as Jim was to get rid of the Holmes brothers. Attacking an army veteran bodyguard was one thing. But touching Jim Moriarty? Sebastian could not tolerate that. Now he never left Jim’s side, followed him like a shadow wherever he went and watched him like a hawk. The criminal had outlined his plan to him, and sometimes asked him for advice on specific details. Sebastian took this task very seriously. Then the game was set up.

The longest task was to recreate the character of Richard Brook. Sebastian was reluctant to involve his brother-in-law's name in their plan, but Jim assured him that the real Richard would never be troubled. Jim had to move back to a small London apartment, and Sebastian obviously moved with him. It was funny, the sniper found, to go back to that situation, the one with which it had all started. And yet at the same time he remained in the current situation: second in command of the Firm, Moriarty's personal bodyguard, and above all, Jim's boyfriend. What amused him less, however, was the fact that he had to hide the latter aspect. Jim once again needed to seduce a woman to make his plan work, and that would obviously be impossible if he went out openly with Sebastian. And Kitty Riley, the journalist on whom Jim relied for his false testimony, was much less gullible and in need of affection than St. Bart’s coroner, so the whole operation took much longer, and Sebastian was fulminating. He was convinced that Jim took a mischievous pleasure in hitting on the young woman to piss off the sniper - but he always inevitably made up for it when they were both alone, and Sebastian tried not to complain too much.

The sniper knew that things were starting to move when Jim assigned him a new residence. The criminal - or rather the actor - was going to move in with Kitty; meanwhile, Sebastian had to move to Baker Street and watch over the detective, a few days before being joined by several other assassins.

If Sebastian had been right in thinking that the conclusion of this morbid game would come quickly, it was without counting on the speed with which his life seemed to sink into darkness and apprehension. Jim had never been so focused on his work, he hardly slept or ate anymore, and if he did it was only to preserve the mask he wore in Kitty's presence. Although he knew he was not responsible, Sebastian could not help but blame himself. He wasn't there to take care of his boyfriend, to watch over him, to make sure he was okay, and he knew that he was Jim's anchor. Without him, the criminal would sink into the abyss of his own mind. As the days passed, he saw the young man more and more rarely, both being overwhelmed with work - and on the rare occasions when he could find him in his office at the Firm's HQ, he did his best to bring him back to the real world, to remind him of the reason and ultimate purpose of their actions. Every time, Sebastian saw Jim move a little further away from him. The burglary of the Tower of London, and the ensuing trial, only precipitated things, as did the abduction of the Governor's children. Sebastian, as a professional, tried to keep his concerns to himself and obey orders, clinging to the idea that everything would soon return to normal. But what little calm and confidence he had left was eroding before his eyes, until he could no longer hold on.

Jim had just run away from Kitty's house. Sherlock Holmes had managed to follow Brook's trail to the journalist's home, as Moriarty had planned, and he only had to join his second in a secure apartment that they had prepared in advance. The place looked more like a mix of a manager's office and a hacker's lair than a real apartment; it was not meant to be lived in. Sebastian was already there, pacing and worrying himself sick, prepared for any eventuality, when Jim slammed the door and collapsed on the couch.

“You should have seen his face,” the criminal exclaimed without even looking at the other man. “You should have seen Sherlock's face when he understood, the spark of horror in his eyes... He knows that now no one is on his side, no one can save him anymore.”

His eyes hardened, and a cruel smile stretched his lips.

“He's finished. All I have to do now is give the final blow.”

“And then what?”

Jim frowned and raised his eyes. Sebastian was standing in front of him, leaning against the wall, his hands stuck in his pockets. The criminal did not miss the deeply uneasy look on the sniper's face.

“There is no ‘then’. It's over, Sebastian. Sherlock dead, Mycroft destroyed... we are victorious. What more do you want?”

The criminal was staring at him with a frightening intensity, as if he was trying to probe his soul.

“Jim, I'm not asking you to stop now, I know it's impossible. But if you love me, if you have any consideration for my feelings... Don't lose sight of the reason for all this.”

Against all odds, a smile appeared on the criminal's face. One of his famous smiles that only existed on his lips, but left his eyes as cold and hard as diamonds. A bitter laugh escaped from his throat.

“Your _feelings_.”

Sebastian froze.

“What?

“Let's stop this fooling around, shall we, Sebby? I pretended to believe it for a while, but it’s been going on too long for us to keep hiding behind lies.”

“I don't follow you.”

The confusion was visible on Sebastian's face, but Jim had known for a long time that the blond could be as good an actor as he was.

“Stop pretending. We both know that your feelings have nothing to do with love. Admiration, certainly, maybe even affection if I'm lucky. But no one could be foolish enough to believe that it’s possible to love me.”

The smile had long since disappeared from Jim's face, now replaced by painful resignation.

“Jim, are you shitting me?” Sebastian exclaimed as soon as Jim closed his mouth. “Have you completely lost your mind? All these years together, what do you think that was?”

“Opportunism. Oh, don't give me that look, Tiger. I knew it from the beginning. This trick is as old as the world. Pretend to love a powerful man to enjoy his wealth and protection. And sex, of course. That said, I admire you, you know. Not many people would be able to put up with me, even for the prestige of being the second most dangerous man in London.”

A heavy silence set in, before it was driven away by a murmur of pain and regret.

“Of course, it helps that I fell in love with you.”

Sebastian's legs could no longer support him, and he sat down heavily in a chair, passing a weary hand over his face. It was worse than anything he could have imagined. He had known for a long time that Jim was anxious, that he sometimes doubted the sniper's feelings towards him, but Sebastian had always made a point of reminding him how much he loved him, whatever happened. He thought he had eradicated the doubts from Jim's heart long ago. He would never have believed that the criminal still thought, after all this time, that his feelings were not requited. But then...

“If you think I've never loved you...”

Sebastian hesitated, uncertain of his words, and especially uncertain of wanting to know the answer.

“...why are you staying with me?”

The hollow and bitter laugh came back, then died just as quickly.

“Because I'm _weak_.”

The word had been spat out with such disgust, Sebastian felt his stomach sink.

“Even though I know it's not true,” Jim continued, “I sometimes let myself believe that you love me too. It's better than being alone. But it hurts even more when I remember the truth.”

The intense pain on the sniper's face when he raised his ocean blue eyes towards him could have almost led the criminal to believe that he was mistaken. Almost.

“Jim, you...”

Jim’s gaze silently challenged Sebastian to say anything.

“Oh, my God.”

Sebastian stood up from his chair and approached Jim, before stopping sharply in front of the young man's deadly eyes.

“What can I do to convince you?”

“You didn't understand anything...”

“I DID!”

Sebastian's thundering voice echoed in the apartment, startling Jim.

“I did! But you're wrong! I don't care about the Firm, or wealth, or protection! You know I love you, I've never loved anyone as much as you, but you have to let me show you! I beg of you, Jim, tell me what to do!”

The silence lasted for almost a century, before Jim broke it by whispering:

“Go away.”

“Jim...” Sebastian groaned. It was as much a plea as a threat.

Jim shook his head vigorously.

“No, I'm serious. If you love me, Sebastian, if...”

His voice broke.

“If there's the slightest chance that I'm wrong, and you really love me, the best you can do is to get out of here. Go away, run while you still have the chance. Because staying with me will only destroy you, and I can’t bear to see that happen. So do that for both of us. Walk through that door, and never come back.”

If Sebastian looked destroyed before, it was nothing compared to the infinite pain with which he stared into Jim's eyes. It seemed to him that his heart had disappeared, destroyed by the weight of the words that his lover had just spoken. Slowly, after what seemed like centuries of silence to him, he took a step back, then turned around and walked towards the door. He could feel the weight of Jim's gaze on his shoulders. This lead weight did not disappear when he passed through the door, on the contrary: it seemed to get even heavier with the definitive slamming of the handle and the snapping of the lock.

Jim waited until the sniper's footsteps in the corridor had died to allow a single tear to run down his cheek. He stared at the door for a long time without seeing it. That was it. Sebastian was gone. The young man had apprehended this moment for a long time, but he knew he would arrive one day, so he had prepared himself for it. He had even taken the lead and pushed Sebastian away. It was the best solution.

Then why did he feel so empty?

It took Jim a while to come to his senses. That Sebastian had left him wouldn’t change his resolution: he still had to avenge him. His time was limited before the final phase, but he still had some things to do. Of course, it was impossible to predict in advance how the last confrontation would unfold, but Moriarty had to be prepared for every eventuality. The best... as well as the worst. If he had previously toyed with the idea of continuing the game until death, Sebastian's presence prevented him from resolving to it completely. But that was no longer the case. He had made his decision. If his life were to end on that rooftop, at least he would have achieved his goal.

Without further ado, he set to work.

oOoOoOo

The early morning was rising on the fateful day. Jim had slept very little, and had left the small apartment early, it felt too empty and silent. He had preferred to go to his office at the Firm’s HQ after only a few hours of sleep - the bed, too big for one person, only reminded him of the tall blond’s absence.

Big Ben's clock was chiming eight o'clock when three knocks were struck on Moriarty's door. He lifted his head from his work, closed his computer, and ran a weary hand on his face before calling:

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Jim felt a rock fall to the bottom of his stomach as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of his right hand, his bodyguard and his boy... ex-boyfriend.

A wave of relief swept over latter’s face when he saw him.

“You're here! Damn it, I looked for you, you weren't in the apartment so I feared the worst...”

The criminal stood up and walked around his desk to face the newcomer. He did his best to compose a cold and distant face, and said in a voice like ice:

“I thought I had told you to leave, Moran.”

Sebastian shook his head and closed the door behind him.

“If you think you can get rid of me that easily, Boss, you were gravely mistaken.”

He hesitated for a moment before Jim's murderous gaze, then took a deep breath.

“I found a way.”

Jim raised an interrogating eyebrow in the direction of the sniper.

“A way to what?”

“To change your mind, to convince you. Look, Jim, I... I know I haven’t always been the best boyfriend. I've let you down before, too often, and... no one could ever truly give you what you need, but I try, as hard as I can. And if I ever gave you even half of what you’ve given me, if I ever did half of what you did for me...”

His voice broke, and he tried to look away, but Moriarty's cobra eyes held him back better than chains.

“God, Jim, I love you, I love you so much and it's always been true, and nothing you can say will ever change that.”

Jim gave a slight chuckle, which sounded falser than a politician's promises.

“If you thought a romantic speech would change my mind, you were gravely mistaken, Moran.”

“It's not that.”

“Oh. And what is it, then?”

Once again, Sebastian seemed to hesitate. He passed a nervous hand on his neck, before raising his eyes to Jim.

“I wanted to wait for our anniversary, but well... We've been together for six years now. So, I guess it's about time I asked you...”

Jim’s eyes went wide as the realization of what was happening struck him. He couldn't help but take a step back and grab at the desk, while Sebastian put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small box. Without taking his eyes off Jim, he knelt before him and opened the case. The jewel inside shone like a small sun.

“James Moriarty... do you want to be my husband?”

Jim froze. Never before had he been in such shock, and his mind seemed to have closed up shop. Unable to say a word, he simply looked at the box, then looked at Sebastian again, then back at the box....

“I... you... Oh, my God, you... I can't...”

Trying to come to his senses, he put his hand on his face. Sebastian was still staring at him, anxiety gradually gaining ground on his face.

“I... I need time. To think. This is so sudden, Seb, I...”

Sebastian stood up again with difficulty, ran a distracted hand through his hair and tried to smile.

“All right. I... I understand. I guess. I'm sorry. I mean, how long do you need?”

Jim hesitated for a second.

“When this is all over... Once Sherlock is gone. For good. I'll answer you.”

“All right. That's fine with me. I... At least keep the ring, will you?”

Sebastian gently took Jim's hands and forced him to close his fingers on the little box. He tried to ignore the fact that Jim was shaking. Then he turned on his heels and walked through the door without a word.

Jim looked up at the door once the slamming sound rose. He stood still for a moment, then gently placed the little box on the table, and took a deep breath.

He had only a handful of hours left before Sherlock decided to start the final phase of their fight. Until then, he had to find a way out of this alive.

oOoOoOo

For the first time in weeks, Sebastian felt calm and serene. This was usually the case when he was on a rooftop, with his target in his scope, and no obstacle between him and his goal. But recently, even his missions were not enough to calm the anguish and stress that followed him everywhere. Today, with the certainty that Sherlock Holmes was living his last hour, Sebastian finally felt appeased. He knew that the feeling wouldn’t last, and that the detective's death was not really the end of his worries – they would then have to deal with Mycroft's response, who wouldn’t remain silent, and above all, he would have to make sure that Jim returned to a ‘normal’ life... His heart tightened. No, thinking about the future wasn't the right thing to do right now. He had to focus on his target, and on the instructions coming into his earpiece.

“ _It's showtime!_ ”

Sebastian smiled. Even in the most dangerous situations, Jim never lost his sense of humour.

The earpiece was only a precaution: Moriarty had already given his instructions, the snipers were ordered to shoot only if he gave the explicit order and had to leave as soon as they saw the detective fall. Sebastian was listening to the conversation between Jim and Sherlock only to make sure everything was going according to plan - or at least what little Jim had bothered to tell him.

The sniper commander was positioned on a building near St Bart’s, but the hospital's roof remained out of sight. It would have been better for Jim's safety if he had been on a higher roof, but the boss had been clear in his orders, and the blond could only swallow his anxiety and obey.

His target wasn’t there yet. Sebastian had been assigned to John Watson, but Moriarty had arranged everything so that the doctor wouldn’t arrive on the scene until the fateful moment. In the meantime, the sniper could only eavesdrop on the exchange of social pleasantries between his boss and the detective, all the while watching the ballet of the cars below. From time to time, he would check on the other snipers under his command. Everyone was in their place, their targets at gunpoint, and no one had any event to report.

Everything was too quiet. Tension was slowly rising between Sherlock and Jim, and Sebastian was trying to ignore his urge to kill the detective himself.

He took a look at the hospital roof, and nearly jumped at the realization that both opponents were visible. They were standing near the edge of the roof, just above the main avenue.

“ _Oh, just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort_ ,” Jim's falsely annoyed voice said in the earpiece.

Sherlock didn't answer, or if he did, Sebastian couldn't hear him.

“ _Go on, for me. Pleeeaaase?_ ”

Sebastian's heart jumped when the detective brutally grabbed Moriarty by his collar to hold him over the edge of the roof. In a moment of panic, the sniper hurried to point his weapon at Holmes. But if he pulled the trigger now, Jim would take the big plunge...

Time froze around Jim and Sherlock's crossed gazes, until the detective opened his mouth.

“ _You're completely insane_.”

A grin stretched Moriarty's lips.

“ _You’re just getting that now?_ ”

Sherlock pushed the criminal a little closer to the edge.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” Sebastian groaned as he took his aim.

He had not anticipated Holmes playing dumb and putting Jim in danger; his boss had assured him that their confrontation would only be mental. Once again, Sebastian hated himself for taking Jim at his word.

“ _Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive..._ ” he heard Moriarty's voice mutter.

Sherlock frowned.

“ _Your friends will die if you don't_.”

Sebastian almost allowed himself to smile. Jim's voice was that of an absolute lunatic.

“ _John_.”

“ _Not just John. Everyone_.”

“ _Mrs. Hudson_.”

“ _Everyone_.”

“ _Lestrade_.”

Jim's smile no longer left any doubt about his mental health. The horror could be read on Sherlock's face, even at that distance.

“ _Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now_.”

Sherlock pulled his opponent safely back to the roof, and Sebastian started breathing again, realizing at the same time that he had stopped doing so. The two men were invisible again, but Jim's voice rising from the earpiece assured him that he was fine.

“ _Unless my people see you jump_.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and pointed his gun at the street again. His boss was now in relative safety, and he himself had a job to do. Jim would never forgive him if he screwed up the plan.

The sniper tried to focus on the street while the detective exposed Moriarty's plan - and his own death. Cars kept coming and going, and one of the henchmen regularly updated Moran on Dr. Watson's position.

He froze again when he heard a muffled laughter in his earpiece.

“ _What?_ ” said Moriarty's angry voice.

The laughter continued. Sebastian frowned.

“ _What is it? What did I miss?_ ”

The sniper glanced at the roof again. Sherlock was standing on the ledge, but he turned around and slowly walked away, disappearing from the sniper’s sight.

And the static noise in the earpiece went silent.

Sebastian’s eyes went wide, and with trembling fingers, he pulled the device out of his ear. The object wasn’t damaged. He put it back in place feverishly.

“Dekker, can you hear me?”

His subordinate's voice answered him immediately.

“ _Loud and clear, sir_.”

The sniper hesitated for a moment. If the headset was working normally....

“Is your communication with the boss still working?” he asked, without much hope.

“ _No, sir_ ,” Dekker replied, confused. “ _You're the only one in contact with him_.”

“Fucking hell...”

Sebastian cut off the communication and checked the roof again. Still no suicidal detective in sight. Why did Jim turn off his microphone? Had he lost it? Maybe Sherlock had discovered it... Whatever the answer was, it couldn't be good. The seconds passed as panic washed through the sniper. Should he leave his post and join Jim on the roof?  Could he be there in time to prevent a disaster from happening? Jim had been very clear on his orders, he was never to leave his position until Holmes was reduced to strawberry jam on the road. Maybe he was imagining things, maybe Jim had deliberately cut off communication.

“The cab’s arriving at St Bart’s,” agent Petier's voice announced in his earpiece.

Feeling desperate, Sebastian glanced again at the hospital, looking for a solution. The detective was standing on the ledge with his phone in his hand, and Dr. Watson's cab was arriving on the square.

Well, shit. Holmes was going to jump anyway. Sebastian's instinct was too strong for him to ignore, it twisted his guts and would only be appeased when the sniper found his boyfriend safe and sound.

He abandoned his gun on the roof and rushed down the fire escape stairs of the building four to four. Someone could come to get the rifle later. The run to the roof of the hospital seemed endless to him and left him breathless. Panting, he climbed the last flight of stairs and emerged on the rooftop. Sherlock had disappeared - Sebastian didn't need to check to know that he was currently ten metres further down on the asphalt. Jim wasn't there either. The sniper took a deep breath and tried to gather his wits.

With apprehension, he advanced to the place where the confrontation had taken place. Everything was silent, except for the muffled noise of the traffic below.

Sebastian froze.

On the dirty concrete in front of his feet lay a dark red puddle. Trickles of the liquid ran through the gutter between the slabs, growing thinner as they moved away from their source.

He fell to his knees on the ground, his mind was frantically trying to find an explanation for the presence of blood, other than the obvious answer.

“No, no, no...” he muttered, panic and despair gradually replacing the adrenaline in his veins.

Where was the body? If Jim was... If what he feared had happened, then where was Moriarty's body? Closing his mind to the horrible truth that was imposing itself on him, Sebastian stood up and looked around the roof. He had to be somewhere. He couldn’t be dead, he must have hidden, probably behind one of the chimneys or air vents... Stumbling, the sniper went around the roof, looking for the slightest hiding place, the most discreet hatch, in vain. Shouting his boyfriend's name didn't change the result, and the awful truth was slowly but surely gaining ground over the total denial with which Sebastian was shielding himself. In desperation, he rushed to the ledge and examined the street below. Sherlock's torn corpse had already been taken away, and there was no trace of Moriarty.

For one crazy second, Sebastian toyed with the idea of taking a step forward.

“Is it me you’re looking for?”

The voice seemed to come from nowhere. Clinging to the last remaining snippets of hope, Sebastian turned around with infinite slowness.

Jim's figure stood in front of him, arms crossed, dark under the late afternoon sun.

Slowly, as if he was learning to do so for the first time, Sebastian's heart started beating again.

“You… Fucking…”

The shadow of a smile appeared on the criminal's lips.

“BASTARD.”

Jim didn't get the time to answer before 90 kilos of sniper hit him with full force. Before he realized what was happening to him, Sebastian was hugging him hard enough to fuse with him. Without hesitation, the little Irishman responded to the embrace.

An eternity seemed to pass, before Jim realized that Sebastian was sobbing.

“I thought I'd lost you...”

He squeezed him a little tighter.

“I thought you were dead!”

“I'm here, Tiger. I'm here.”

“You can't do this to me. You have no right to die...”

Guilt gradually invaded Jim as he realized the ordeal Sebastian had been through. The sniper was strong and could easily bear Moriarty's disturbed behaviour; but believing that the man he loved was dead, if only for a few moments, was the only thing that could destroy him.

“I'm not dead. I'm sorry, Tiger, but I'm here now...”

“Promise me, you'll never do that again. Promise me...”

“I do.”

Silence set in, before Sebastian gently released his embrace, and planted his ocean blue eyes into Jim's brown. An unusual spark was shining there.

“What... did you just say?”

A smile appeared on the small man’s lips, sincere for once.

“I do. The answer to your question, the one you asked me this morning. Yes, I do.”

The world had disappeared. He could no longer see the hard, cold concrete on the hospital roof, nor the blue sky full of clouds, the sound of the street was inaudible behind the roar of thoughts rushing under his skull. And even those eventually went silent, replaced by two simple words: I do. Nothing else existed but Jim and Sebastian, the smiles on their faces and the light in their eyes.

Then their lips joined, and they kissed like there was no tomorrow.


	17. Thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a chapter, but a thank-you note. It’s going to be a bit long and a bit cheesy, but it’s important to me. This fanfic is a long-term project, that took me two and a half years to write, has had ups and downs, completely changed direction, and saw me evolve both as an author and as a person. Those who know me know the importance MorMor holds for me, and I am proud to have conducted this project from A to Z, and put down on paper my version of their story. But this project isn’t entirely mine, a lot of people have helped me, in a more or less direct manner, and without them this story would be very different – or would not exist at all. That’s why I’d like to take a moment to thank them.

My friend **Jean** , for their support during this whole project, their help and suggestions when I got stuck on specific plot points, and their advice concerning Severin’s transidentity. Now that this fanfic is finished, I have officially ceded the custody of Jim and Seb over to them, they will surely take care of them better than I did.

 **Anso** , the first person who ever read this story in its entirety, for her very enthusiastic feedback, and her amazing drawings. Thank you so much, it’s a great honor.

My French beta-reader **Louise** , for her help and her corrections. Thank you for your patience with my grammar mistakes…

My beta-readers **Finrod** and **Alexandra** , as well as my friend **A.C.** for their help in the translation, and the correction of all my mistakes in English. I may call myself bilingual, but without them the translation of this fanfic would be full of mistakes.

My friend **Finrod** , for the idea that Severin is trans, and for the discussions on his development that followed.

The amazing artist **Hippano** , queen of MorMor, who is the reason I fell into this fandom three years ago. Without her I wouldn’t have met all the amazing people who make up this fandom.

 **The whole MorMor fandom** , the MorMor Survival Team, @ofmagpiesandtigers and @markofthemagpie, Kim Newman (author of _The Hound of the D’Urbervilles_ ), and all the other people who create MorMor content, for the inspiration, ideas, headcanons and theories that I’ve included (consciously or not) into my story, and for making me want to write it in the first place. You are all amazing people and an incredibly creative, welcoming and friendly community, and I’m really glad to be a part of it.

 **All the readers** who enjoyed, commented on, and shared this fanfic, and those who will read it in times to come. Because a story is made to be read, and thanks to you I could add my stone to this fandom.


End file.
